


Red Sky, Take Warning.

by Rose_of_Pollux



Category: The Monkees (TV)
Genre: Gen, I feel like I should warn for the fact that the main villain is the devil, but he was in the show itself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-18 06:16:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 75,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5901490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose_of_Pollux/pseuds/Rose_of_Pollux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on the episode "The Devil and Peter Tork."  A powerful villain's twisted plot for revenge against the Monkees casts each of our heroes into a different life, unable to remember each other or who they really are. Unfortunately for them, Divide was just the first step; next is Conquer...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. This Just Doesn't Seem to be Our Day

**Author's Note:**

> The characters aren't mine, and the story is! This was my first fic for the fandom back in 2012, and a rather ambitious one, at that—the initial premise was heavily inspired by the ABC series Once Upon a Time, but I do believe I've put a unique Monkees spin on it, which will become clearer in the future chapters. Goes without saying that the characters are the fictional personas of the guys from the TV show only. Also, if anything looks like a nod/reference to any of my other fandoms, it probably is.

Mr. Zero furiously paced the vast, seemingly endless expense of his domain, paying no attention to the condemned souls, demons, and rakshasas all around him. He did not care to hear what they were saying; lately, they had all seemed to be discussing the same thing—the trial of that young musician, and how Mr. Zero had lost the battle for the boy's soul.

He had hoped the incident would have gone unmentioned, perhaps even forgotten in the eternal wasteland, but no—word had traveled to Ravana, the rakshasa king, who chose to have a laugh at Zero's expense—and, indeed, all ten of his heads were chortling in Zero's clearly annoyed face.

"You were outwitted by four children who were barely out of their teen years?" Ravana had bellowed, catching the attention of all the condemned nearby. "And they were mere musicians? When I was defeated by a Man, at least He was the Lord incarnate! What excuse do you have?"

Zero didn't have one, of course, and the story spread faster than the eternal fires that burned in his domain. Those who chose to dwell there found it hilarious—even Chernabog and Giratina were laughing at him.

As for those who did not wish to be there, they heard about it, too. Within hours, thousands of condemned souls had approached him, demanding that they be granted trials to get out of their current positions. Zero's forked tongue wasn't enough to dissuade them, either, though he tried.

"Palmer, I will _not_ be holding anymore trials—I don't care if a meddling reporter melted that medallion I had given you with Holy Water!" he had snapped to a former client. He then had to address a furious condemned soul from the Second World War. "And that goes for you, too, Hochstetter! You were sent here by those Upstairs; even if I let you out, _they_ won't let you in!"

The demands to get out did not stop, nor did the story stop spreading—nor did Zero's rage stop building. He continued to pace, seething as he went over the trial over and over again in his mind—Peter, sitting there, playing the harp, the short one—Davy—getting that expression of hope on his face, that snarky one—Micky—vaulting over the table in glee when the verdict was announced, and, most humiliating of all, the one in the hat—Mike— _daring_ to give the Prince of Darkness himself that smug, triumphant look…!

Zero furiously hissed at the very memory of that look, jets of flame shooting up from all around him as his rage spiked further.

It was Mike's doing—all of this was! He was the one who had challenged the contract and found that so-called loophole—power of love, indeed! That made _him_ the main reason for Zero's current humiliation! Though, of course, all four of them were responsible for it, but Mike was their leader—the one who orchestrated that entire defense stratagem…

The flames suddenly quelled as a wicked expression crossed Zero's face. He did not have to take this sitting down—he had more power than those wretched boys could ever have. Ravana was right—they were mere mortals, their only power being this so-called power of love that Mike had gone on about. Zero's power dwarfed that, easily—he had the power to make them all pay for their insolence.

And he would make them pay. Oh, yes, he would make them pay. He would make them all suffer for what they had done to him—and the one in the hat would suffer the most. They drew their strength from each other, did they? Then he would tear them apart—cast them far away from each other, with no memory of each other or their love of music. And then, one by one, he would draw them in to his domain after driving them to the very brink of despair—for if they were not together to defend each other, then Zero could conquer them one by one, keeping them forever separated.

He could put one of them—Davy, perhaps—in a gilded cage; he would be the least likely to get in Zero's way. One of them should be kept constantly traveling to ensure that he wouldn't be able to plant any roots—that fate could go to Micky. Peter… well, for someone who apparently lived to give joy to others, he should be given a fate that would cause him to be absolutely miserable—a job that would cause him to make _others_ miserable. And as for Mike… Zero would take extra special care to make him as miserable as possible. That would take care of step 1: Divide.

And then, after Zero would finish amusing himself by watching, he would move on to step two: Conquer.

The smirk finally back upon his lips, Mr. Zero now crossed to his private chamber, getting ready to work his fiendish magic. After he was through, no one would ever dare to doubt his powers again.

* * *

For Mike, Davy, Micky, and Peter, the day had been a slow one, all of them blissfully unaware of the plot forming against them. As far as they were concerned, it was just another day—they had been woken up bright and early that morning by Mr. Babbitt hollering at them for missing the rent payment yet again, which had been followed by him promising to camp outside their door until they paid up. That, in turn, was remedied by the boys sneaking out the back way, dragging their instruments along, as they searched for gigs high and low—meeting with minimal success, as usual.

"That's the last time I agree to play at a car wash," Micky grumbled, blowing soap suds off of his drums.

"I know," sighed Peter. "I think that guy threw that bucket of soapy water at us on purpose."

"Of course he did it on purpose—his daughter liked us," Davy said, rolling his eyes Heavenward.

"Hey, at least he wasn't like that other lady," Micky said. He raised his voice to mimic the lady's. "'Oh, Harold, turn that radio off—that music is just awful!' Now that was just plain unnecessary."

"Look on the bright side," Mike said, having inspected his guitar for water damage the tenth time that day.

"Is there one?" Davy asked.

"Yes—we actually got paid," Mike answered, placing the semi-soggy bills on the table to dry.

"Hey, he's right!" Peter said. "Now we can pay our rent!"

"Sure, if you feel like having toasted air for dinner," Micky said, inspecting the empty refrigerator. "Babbitt'll take every cent we earned!"

"Oh…"

"Yeah, at this point in time, we'll have to limit ourselves to the most minimal of luxuries," Mike deadpanned. "Like food."

"I can't take it anymore!" Micky exclaimed, crashing to his knees in front of the refrigerator. "When are we gonna get our big break? When?"

"Hey, that was pretty good, Micky!" Peter said. "Maybe we should branch out—make it a show rather than just music."

"You think that'll change anything?" Davy asked. "We put on a show, and they'll still be throwing soapy water at us."

"At this point, I just wish they'd start throwing tomatoes at us," Micky said, still on his knees.

"Yeah, they are easier to dodge…" Peter agreed.

"Who's talking about dodging?" Micky said. "I'm so hungry; we could get free food that way…"

"Alright, that's enough!" Mike said. "I'm tired of all this negativity, man. We'll get our chance—we just have to keep at it until then!"

"But when will that be?" Micky asked. "I need a sign! Can't anyone give us just a simple sign?"

A loud CRACK issued from outside—it sounded as though a crack of lightning had nearly split the sky in two.

"Ooh!" Davy exclaimed, looking out the window. "I didn't know we were in for a storm…"

"We can't be; we wouldn't have had all those people heading to the car wash if they'd known that Mother Nature would've done it for them," Peter began, but he paused as Davy's shoulders went rigid. "Davy? What is it?"

"Tell me one thing, fellas," Davy said. "What does it mean when the sky is red like that?"

The others now glanced out the window, staring at the blood-red sky, which had been blue only moments earlier.

"Sunset isn't for a while yet," Mike said, crossing to the window with a baffled expression on his face. "Well, I suppose we should all be grateful that the sky is red and not green."

"Why? What does the green sky mean?" Micky asked, picking himself up off the floor to walk over and get a better look.

"That's twister weather," Mike said, grimly.

"Then what's this?" Davy asked, his eyes widening.

"You got me, man; I've never seen anything like this."

"Maybe it's an incoming meteorite," Peter said, his eyes widening. "Maybe it's some sort of asteroid chunk, on fire, hurtling through our atmosphere at supersonic speed, pulled closer and closer to Earth by the power of gravity, igniting the very air as it hurtles towards the ground, ready to make contact!"

"Don't say things like that, Peter!" Micky scolded.

"…Or maybe it's just an alien spaceship visiting?" Peter offered. "Hopefully just for a visit and not to conquer the world."

"Better."

The red sky didn't change at all—it did not grow, nor did it fade away. And it didn't make the boys feel any better about it.

"I can't figure it out," Mike said. "But something in my gut is telling me we don't want to know what it is. We should just stay in here."

"Yeah, we might get one wicked sunburn, going out in that," Peter said. "That wouldn't be fun."

"You think?" Micky asked, rolling his eyes now.

The door to the pad now started to rattle violently on its hinges, causing all four of them to turn sharply away from the window.

"H-hey, Mike…? Mike, are you sure that twisters have never happened under a red sky?" Davy.

"I want to say 'no,' but it seems that all of the weather rules that I thought I knew are rapidly flying out the window," Mike said.

"Maybe it's just Mr. Babbitt trying to scare us into giving him the rent?" Peter asked, convincing no one.

He cringed as the door started to splinter, beams of red light seeping through the cracks, edging towards them.

"Okay, maybe not."

"And I changed my mind; we shouldn't stay here," Mike said, ushering the others towards the back door of the pad.

They had just exited when they heard the crash of the front door behind them, the pad filling with red light.

"Don't look back!" Mike ordered, practically shoving the other three ahead as the light crept more and more towards them, faster and faster.

They ran down the beach, trying very hard to do as Mike instructed and not look back. But out of the corners of their eyes, it was clear that the light was _chasing_ them, as impossible as it sounded.

"We're not going to make it!" Peter yelped.

"Well, you three are sure going to try!" Mike ordered, shoving them ahead again as the light overtook him, obscuring him from view. His voice was suddenly cut off, as well; he did not reply to the others, even when they cried out to him.

A horrified Peter did exactly what he shouldn't have done—stopped dead in his tracks to look behind them to find out what had happened to Mike. Within seconds, the light had overtaken him, as well.

"Mike! Peter!" Micky yelled.

Davy couldn't even talk from running; he just frantically tugged at Micky's sleeve, trying to pull him along.

"We can't leave them!" Micky cried. "We can't!"

Davy knew they couldn't—and it didn't seem like the light was going to let them, either; the beams were now licking at the heels of the two remaining friends, and they both seemed to realize that their efforts to outrun it where fruitless.

As the light enveloped them, Davy held Micky's sleeve in a deathgrip as he called out to him. But not only could he not hear Micky's reply, Davy couldn't even hear his own voice, either—had he just gone deaf? No, he could hear something—it sounded like… cackling? Who was that? It sounded familiar, and the very sound of it was sending chills down the young man's spine.

The light was blinding; Davy had to shut his eyes, his fingers curling even tighter around the fabric in his hand, though his mind seemed to be getting inexplicably hazy. For some reason, the more he tried to call out to his friends, the harder it was to do so.

It was soon after that he seemed to lose his voice completely. Though he strained his ears to pick up any sign of his comrades, he heard nothing—not even his own yells as the ground beneath him seemingly gave way, sending him falling into a vast, dark emptiness.

And, in his domain, Mr. Zero continued to cackle.

Step 1 had just been completed.


	2. My Whole World is Upside-Down

" _Davy? Davy!_ "

" _Davy? Can you hear us?_ "

" _Come on, Man—where are you?_ "

Davy's eyes snapped open as he abruptly awakened. What a frighteningly realistic dream! Voices, frantically calling out to him in an endless darkness… He couldn't even place them, yet a part of him had felt that he had to answer them.

He sat up, using his right arm to pull the curtains open in the luxurious canopy bed he had been sleeping in, blinking as the sunlight streamed in from the window, brightening the otherwise dull, stone walls of Hagglethorn Hall. It didn't seem to be too odd, residing in a castle that had been brought stone by stone from Europe to California; as far as he knew, he had lived here his entire life, surrounded by servants waiting on him hand and foot.

And yet… something seemed to be missing. He couldn't place what it was—only that there seemed to be a void in him.

He was just shaking the thought off when he was suddenly aware of something in his left hand. He blinked again, this time in confusion as he found it to be a torn piece of fabric with buttons on it—the cuff of a shirt sleeve.

Instinctively, he checked the sleeves of his nightshirt, but they were intact; then again, the sleeve cuff didn't look like it was from a nightshirt at all. Davy now got out of bed, crossing to the closet to see if he could find the shirt with the torn sleeve to look into getting it repaired. To his surprise, none of his shirts were torn.

"Well, that's odd, isn't it?" he murmured to no one in particular.

It opened up some very concerning questions—whose sleeve cuff was it? How had he ended up with it? …And _why_ did he feel such a horrible feeling of loss the more he looked at this little scrap of fabric?

He nearly jumped a foot in the air as someone knocked on his bedroom door.

"Are you awake, Master David?" asked the voice of his head butler.

"Yes, Creech," Davy said. "Just hold on a second…"

He quickly threw on his robe, and then paused to look at the sleeve cuff in his hand again. Anyone else would've probably tossed it aside, but Davy knew that he had to hold onto it; he quickly and carefully placed it in a wardrobe drawer and opened the door to the tall, gaunt-faced head butler, who immediately noticed the perplexed look on Davy's face.

"Is everything alright, Master David?"

"Everything's fine, Creech," he promised. "I, er… I just had a very odd dream. Voices were calling to me; I thought I recognized them from somewhere, but I can't place them no matter how much I try."

"I wouldn't be too concerned about it," Creech replied. "As the Earl of Hagglethorn, you come across many new faces on a regular basis when people come to tour the Hall; they know of you, and you probably hear them calling your name."

"I suppose," Davy said, his mind clearly elsewhere.

"Forgive me, Master David; I know it is not my place to tell you what to do, but you should have your breakfast," Creech went on. "You have a busy schedule today; at 11, you're entertaining the mayor—"

"Oh, shall I prepare a little song-and-dance routine for him, then?" Davy asked, with an impish grin. The grin faded as Creech stared at him, deadpan. "Sorry, Creech; I don't know why I said that…" The truth was, though, that singing and dancing seemed appealing; in fact, it seemed… _right_.

"You have a meeting with the organizers of the Hagglethorn Heritage Festival at 3 in the afternoon," Creech continued. "And then you meet with the press at 6 so that they can take pictures of you handing over your generous donation to the Hagglethorn Charity Fund. And then tomorrow, you have a meeting with the head of the new free clinic—"

"That's all I ever do around here as the Earl of Hagglethorn," Davy said, sighing. "I'm just a figurehead, I am. I just entertain the upper crust and make public appearances to give generous donations; I don't get to _do_ anything!"

"That is the way the aristocracy is," Creech said. "The previous Earls of Hagglethorn were generous figureheads, as well."

"Yeah, well, that was all well and good for them," the boy responded, but he accepted his fate nonetheless. "Right; I'll have some kippers for breakfast and see if I can take Saph out for a ride before I meet with the mayor."

"Saph?" Creech asked, referring to the prized stallion of the Hall. "I presume, Master David, you intend to ride only within the grounds?"

"Actually, I was thinking I could leave immediately after breakfast—get a nice, long ride in around the countryside…"

"Master David, forgive my presumptuousness, but it is most unsafe for the Earl of Hagglethorn to be outside the grounds," Creech said. "Dozens of swindlers and ne'er-do-wells are just waiting for you—"

"How can they possibly be? As far as they're concerned, I never leave the grounds, do I?"

"So far, every single previous Earl of Hagglethorn has disappeared under mysterious circumstances," Creech reminded him. "I do not intend for you to be the next statistic, Master David."

"Your heart's in the right place, Creech, and I am grateful for that," Davy said. "But I do think you're being a bit paranoid."

"I am being cautious," Creech insisted. "But I mustn't keep you from your breakfast any longer."

He clapped his hands, and a maid brought in a cart with a full breakfast and the morning paper.

"If you need anything, do let us know," Creech said.

"Right," Davy said, and acknowledged Creech as he bowed and left.

He sighed, starting on his breakfast. Well, there was no possible way he could have been out of the grounds last night—so how did he end up with that sleeve cuff in his hand? Had someone broken into the Hall in the middle of night? Had he been fighting for his life against an assailant?

No; Creech wouldn't have let anyone get within fifty feet of the room—he'd have fought off the assailant himself. But that still left the question of the cuff's origin, as well as the irksome feeling that something was very, very wrong with the way things were—and not just because he was bored, either.

* * *

At the fairgrounds some several miles away, Micky had been trapped in his own set of haunting dreams when he, too, was awakened by a knock on his door. His situation, though, was much different; he awoke to a small, cramped camper and a cheap, uncomfortable fold-away bed. Calliope music was audible in the morning air, as well as the sound of a few trumpeting elephants and, every so often, a vocalization by a lion.

Such were normal morning sounds for traveling circus folk, after all…

Micky now snapped to attention as he heard the annoyed voice of the ringmaster outside his camper door.

"I'm up, Sir!" he insisted, quickly buttoning up his shirt and opening the door. "Sorry; I slept in a bit—"

"I don't pay you to sleep in, Boy!" the ringmaster barked.

"No, Sir," Micky said. "I know you don't."

"And I don't pay you to wear torn shirts, either! You're an animal trainer, not one of the clowns! You expect to parade around and be seen in _that_?"

"Torn shirt? But my shirt isn't…" Micky trailed off, looking blankly at his right shirt sleeve. It was mostly intact, but the shirt cuff was missing, making him look very awkward indeed. He looked around for the rest of it, utterly perplexed. "Oh. How about that? I guess it _is_ torn… …How'd that happen?"

He was at a loss for answers to those questions, as well as to the question as to why he was getting an unpleasant feeling in his gut that had nothing to do with the fact that he had been caught wearing it. No, the feeling he had was one that made him think that he had lost something very important…

"Never mind how it happened!" the ringmaster snapped. "Get into a shirt that isn't torn and tend to the animals like you're supposed to!"

"Sir, yes, Sir!" Micky said, saluting. "Right away, Sir!"

The ringmaster grunted and turned to go, but Micky spoke again.

"Uh, Sir…?"

"What is it now?"

"Well, I… I've been meaning to ask you, Sir… Do you think there'll ever be a chance for me to do some actual performing? I mean, I'm pretty good with impressions, and I can sing, too! I'd be a great clown, or, heck—even just someone to warm the crowd up. Listen to this; it's a scene from _Casablanca_!" He cleared his throat and did a flawless imitation of Rick Blaine. "Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine… Oh, or how about this: _Streetcar Named Desire_? Hey, Stella! Stelllllllaaaaaaaaaa!"

"That's enough," the ringmaster said. "You'll stick to your job, like you're supposed to. Don't try to be something you're not!"

"…Yes, Sir," Micky said, his shoulders slumping in disappointment. "I'll be there in just a minute."

"You'd better be," the ringmaster threatened. "This circus can get along just fine without you."

Micky winced, but nodded, looking as polite as possible until the ringmaster was out of sight. Quickly, he changed into a pristine shirt, pausing to stare at the missing cuff once more before folding the shirt away.

Had he gotten into a fight last night? No, that's not possible; the other party would've reported him to the ringmaster if that had happened… And it couldn't have been the lions; they wouldn't have shown such self-restraint to take only his sleeve cuff as opposed to his whole hand.

He shook the thought from his head, heading over towards the animals as he pondered over what the ringmaster had told him.

"Don't try to be something you're not…" he quietly repeated to himself. "Yeah, but… what am I?"

There had to be more to life than just tending after large animals! This wasn't what he wanted to do; he wanted to entertain people! …Or was the ringmaster right, and that wasn't who he was supposed to be? Regardless, the feelings seemed too strong to ignore, but Micky accepted the realization that there want anything he could do about it—not unless he was willing to risk the job he had.

He suddenly stopped in his tracks as a young elephant greeted him by wrapping his trunk around him, finally cheering Micky up.

"Morning, Rue," he said, petting the young pachyderm on the trunk. "Guess we've got to get you and the others ready for the matinee, huh?"

The elephant let out a quiet vocalization and deftly picked up a specially-crafted stick in its trunk, beating a small drum that had been provided for it. Rue did this for the audiences all the time, who absolutely ate it up.

"Glad you see you're ready to go," Micky said. "But tell me something, Rue. You ever get the feeling you're in the wrong line of work?"

The elephant calf gave Micky an unreadable look.

"Well, I guess you wouldn't know," he said, as he got to work filling the food troughs and moving hay bales to feed Rue and the other animals. "But I'll tell you something, Rue—I'm tired of being a stepping stone."

* * *

Outside of town, another young man was loathing his job. Peter, also contending with cryptic dreams that left him with a feeling of loss, was being berated by his boss, Dr. Mendoza, the scientist.

"Peter, I do not understand you," the scientist said. "I gave you a job and a place to stay here, and yet when I ask you to help with my research by bringing me some guinea pigs, you refuse!"

"But… you want human guinea pigs!" Peter protested. "There's gotta be a law against that!"

"The law? My boy, there are bigger things to contend with than that!" Mendoza insisted. "We must think of scientific progress!"

"But—"

"If I learn all there is to know about controlling human behavior, it will _help_ law enforcement!" Mendoza reminded him. "We can alter the minds of criminals to make them no longer act against the law! We can alter the minds of lazy layabouts to become productive members of society! And, most of all, we can turn quiet, meek people like you into metaphorical lions!"

"Well, that sure is a lot that science could accomplish," Peter admitted. "But still I don't know if that's such a good idea. I mean, it just doesn't seem right."

"Science must progress, no matter what the cost!" Mendoza insisted. "And I have had enough of your reluctance to help me, Peter! Either you will do as I say, or you will leave here, fired!"

"But… I have nowhere else to go!" Peter exclaimed. "That was the whole reason why you took me under your wing, wasn't it? To give me a place to stay?"

"Yes… and no," Mendoza said, smirking to himself. "To be honest, I needed an innocent face like yours."

"Uh… why?"

"Because people will be quick to trust you, Peter," Mendoza said. "You could bring 100 guinea pigs to my laboratory within the span of a day with that face!"

Peter absently felt the side of his face.

"But if I have that ability, should I be using it for good?"

"My boy, haven't you been listening? Ensuring the progress of science—and my research—is what is good for everyone!"

Peter scratched his head.

 _No_ , he said to himself. _That's not it. But I'd better not say that to him_.

"We can deal with that a little later," the doctor went on. "I want you to get some food and feed our… current guinea pigs."

"Yes, Doctor…" Peter said, heading off to the kitchen. He then paused. "Doctor?"

"Yes, my boy?"

"Do you… Do you believe that dreams are a way of sending messages to us?" Peter asked.

"What brought this up?"

"Well, I had a strange one before I woke up this morning…" Peter said. "I couldn't see anything, but I could hear voices calling for me. They seemed to know me, but, I didn't know them. Well, actually, it felt like I should've known them, but I didn't. And I want to know why I felt like that. I mean, when I actually woke up, I felt like… Well, I felt… really alone—and I hated it. It's like I belonged with those people, but I don't know why they were calling for me. It's strange…"

"It has been my experience that dreams are just the mind's way of blowing off steam," Mendoza insisted. "Forget about it and focus on what you have to do."

"Yes, Doctor," Peter said. He headed towards the kitchen again, this time pausing by the door to scratch a golden retriever behind the ears. "Hey, Emerald, you want to help me out in the kitchen?"

The dog "rruffed" in reply and followed Peter out the door.

The doctor folded his arms, not sure what to do with the boy. Because of Peter's refusal to draw people to the lab, Mendoza had been sending his daughter to do that task. But it was getting riskier and riskier to keep doing that; Mendoza had reason to believe that the district attorney had started to tail her, monitoring her to try to catch her in the act. Mendoza still needed more subjects to test his mind-control theories on, and it was time for Peter to get beyond his seemingly interfering ideals and morals and contribute to scientific progress, rather than limiting himself to caring for the captives—and even that seemed wrong to him; more than once, Peter had seemed to be considering letting them go, which the doctor couldn't risk. The doctor had to put tabs on Peter whenever he went outside to walk that golden retriever he had adopted; he hadn't spilled the beans yet, and Mendoza was determined to ensure that Peter would be in too deep to get out.

With the boy as naïve as he was, it wouldn't be too much of a challenge. Mendoza was determined to make it happen today.

* * *

Meanwhile, downtown, in a small flowershop called the Texas Bluebonnet, a fourth young man, who had been fast asleep on his feet, had been woken up abruptly by a dream similar to what the others had experienced—a vast expanse of darkness, accompanied by voices calling his name, and a subsequent feeling of loss upon hearing them.

"Man, that was some dream," he said to a bird on the counter, which was busy preening its feathers. "You know, they always say eating before bed is what gives you weird dreams. Well, I can tell you that eating _nothing_ apparently does the same thing. What do you think, Diamond Jim?"

The bird, a brilliantly colored Attwater's prairie chicken paused to give the young man in the wool hat a look before resuming his preening.

"You haven't eaten a square meal in a while, either, have you?" Mike sighed. "Man, I haven't had a square meal in… I don't even know how long."

He propped his chin on his hand, silently lamenting on the fact that he hadn't had a customer in weeks—no customers meant no money, and no money meant no food. He had been reduced to hiking outside of town to wooded areas, finding edible berries and seeds just so he and Diamond Jim could survive to the next day. But foraging for food wasn't going to last forever, he knew—one storm, one freak frost, anything like that could wipe out what little source of food they had. After that, well… Mike knew that his options would be to beg, borrow, or starve.

"Who am I kidding?" Mike said aloud. "Unless we get some sort of miracle rush on flowers coming through that door, you and I are going to starve for sure, Diamond Jim." He sighed. "What a way to go…"

The bird opened its beak and vocalized.

"Yeah, I'm wracking my brain, thinking if there's someone out there who could possibly lend us a hand. The few customers I had never came back. So here I am, skipping meals every day, pouring out my heart and soul to a Texas prairie chicken."

The bird let out an almost indignant noise, his crest of feathers on his head spreading in agitation.

"Now I didn't mean it like that," Mike insisted. "I just mean that unless you happen to have some cash on hand… er, cash on wing, as the case may be… we're both in a lot of trouble!"

Diamond Jim now tilted his head, curious.

"Yes, both of us," Mike repeated. "I can't even afford the birdseed, either."

The prairie chicken responded by flying from the counter to a potted plant, from which it pulled an insect and ate it.

"…Okay, then, _I'm_ the one in trouble," Mike said, resigning himself to his fate. With a sigh, he watched Diamond Jim continue to eat.

How had it come to this—having to forego food entirely? …No, that wasn't what was bothering him; part of him knew that he had gone hungry before, but things seemed… different then. It was as though that then, even though he had gone hungry, he hadn't gone hungry alone—and that had, somehow, made it bearable.

But that didn't make sense. He'd been on his own since… forever, it seemed—just him and a Texas prairie chicken. Who on Earth could be possibly have been sharing that hunger with? And why was he thinking about that dream—a dark void, with familiar voices calling to him?

He shook the thought from his head; no, it couldn't be real—just simple wishful thinking sparked from being hungry and alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hagglethorn Hall and Creech are not mine; kudos to anyone who knows their significance.


	3. I Wanna Be Free

_This shouldn't even be an issue_ , Davy told himself, as he slipped into his riding outfit. _I am the Earl of Hagglethorn; I should have the say in whether I can leave the grounds for a ride or not. I just have to convince Creech that he can't be so overprotective; it's not as though anything can happen on a short ride out, can it?_

He glanced at his reflection and sighed, gritting his teeth.

 _Right. I am the one in charge; I don't answer to them, and I don't have to explain my actions, either. I can walk right out that door anytime I want to. And I'm going to do it today. Now_.

The attendants in the Hall greeted Davy as he headed to the stable on the grounds, where he was greeted by Saph, the blue roan. The horse looked about as edgy as Davy felt, pawing at the ground with one of his front hooves.

"You wanna be free, too, don't you?" Davy asked him, petting him on the forehead. "I know the feeling."

The horse gave a little whinny of agreement.

"Well, it's going to be different today," Davy promised. "We're finally going past these grounds."

"Master David, I must protest," Creech's voice said from behind him.

The young Englishman gave a yelp of fright.

"Don't do that…"

"My apologies, Master David, but you must remain within the grounds; it is the only way we can guarantee your safety."

"Creech, you have to take some risks in your life!" Davy protested. "Personally, I think daring to ride a horse in the countryside where hardly anyone ranks on the lower end of the scale."

"But, Master David—"

"And that's another thing!" Davy added. "I'm supposed to be the 'Master' here, but I certainly don't feel like it! Tell me something, Creech. Am I the Earl of Hagglethorn, or am I a just a prisoner, locked away to get out of everyone's hair?"

Creech looked away at this, a slight sadness going over his features, and Davy winced, regretting having snapped.

"I'm sorry, Creech; I didn't mean—"

"It is my willing duty to look after you, Master David," Creech said. "While I am pleased that you are safe and healthy, I do regret that there is one thing I am not able to provide for you—happiness."

"I could use some," Davy admitted. "Just a chance to get away from all of this, even for a little while. I know it's foolish, wanting to leave all this luxury, but… often, I feel as though I'm in the wrong place."

"…I see."

"Oh, it's nothing to do with you personally, Creech," Davy promised. "I wouldn't want you to think that."

The horse snorted in agreement, continuing to paw at the ground.

"Please, Creech," Davy went on. "Just a short ride out in the countryside—I'll be back well before the mayor arrives."

Creech gave this some deep consideration. He still thought it to be very dangerous, but, on the other hand, he regretted that despite all the services he did in Davy's employ, he wasn't able to make him happy.

"I suppose it could not hurt if I was to accompany you on another horse," Creech said, at last.

Davy's eyes widened. He had been hoping to ride alone, but if he was, at last, being allowed beyond the grounds, he would have to take what he could get, even if it meant having Creech tailing him.

At last, his face broke into a grin; something that the head butler had waited for so long to see.

"Thanks, Creech!" Davy said, all but vaulting onto Saph's back.

Creech sighed, readying a horse for himself and hoping that he wasn't going to regret this.

* * *

Micky, in the meantime, was finishing up the task of giving Rue a bath—he hoped; Rue had a habit of rolling around in the mud immediately after being cleaned, restarting the process all over again.

"Oh, Micky!" a voice called to him.

The boy turned, facing the circus' magician—the Masked Magician, as he was billed, so called because he never removed the striped mask over his face. Micky never said it aloud, but the Masked Magician gave him the creeps, so the smile he gave him was very forced as he returned the greeting.

"Is there anything I can help you with?" Micky asked. "I mean… feed your white doves or clean up your disappearing cabinet while I still have the soapy water out, or something like that?"

"Well, actually, there is something else you could help me with," the magician said. "My assistant just got called away—her dental appointment was moved so suddenly, and I need someone to pinch-hit."

"P-P-Pinch hit?" Micky stammered. "Yeah, um, I think one of the acrobats is taking the day off since she sprained her ankle. Why don't I go see her and—"

"No; I wouldn't want to trouble the poor dear," the magician said. "You don't seem to be doing much; do you think you could possibly help me out? You wouldn't have to do much at all."

 _Other than getting stabbed with swords and sawed in half_ … Micky nervously thought to himself.

"Think you can help me out of this little pickle I'm in?" the magician continued. "I would be indebted to you."

"Oh, Gosharooney, you know I'd just love to, but—"

There was a huge splash as Rue plopped himself into the nearest mud puddle and started wallowing around.

"—But I need to give Rue another bath," he finished. _Well played, Buddy; well played. You'll get extra food for this, I promise_.

"Oh," the Magician said. "That's just too bad…"

"What seems to be the trouble?" the ringmaster asked, passing by.

"Well, Rue just went into the mud after I gave him a bath, so I need to give him another one," Micky announced. "And the Masked Magician here needs to find a new assistant; I told him that one of the acrobats—"

"Problem solved, then," the ringmaster said. "Rinse off the elephant and serve as the assistant."

"Wh-wh-whaaaaa…?"

"Well, you said you wanted to get into show business," the ringmaster sneered. "Here's your chance to do it."

"Yeah, but I wanted to do it while staying in one piece!" Micky protested. "Not sawn in half! I mean, what if something goes wrong out there?"

"Then it's no big loss. I can't get another acrobat as easily as I can get another animal keeper. You are expendable, Kid. Remember that."

Micky winced. That had just added insult to injury; even the Masked Magician's widened behind his mask.

"Yes, Sir," Micky said, hoping that he hadn't gone noticeably pale.

"Good," the ringmaster said. "Now why don't you go and help him practice? I'm sure a lot goes into breaking in a new assistant."

He smirked, walking off, but giving a snarl of frustration as Rue splattered him with a trunkful of mud.

Micky just grabbed onto the nearest tent post to steady himself. It wasn't just the sawing in half; there was the fact that the ringmaster seemed to take such joy in making him feel absolutely miserable.

 _What did I ever do to him to deserve this?_ Micky wondered.

The Masked Magician cleared his throat to bring an end to the awkward silence that had since descended.

"There's nothing to worry about, Micky," he promised him. "It's all just a trick, you know."

"Yeah, I know," Micky said. "But it's like I told him; too many things can go wrong."

"I promise I'll be extra careful," the magician said, sighing. "Come on; we'd better practice before we're both out of a job."

"Let me just clean Rue off, first," Micky said, trying to delay the inevitable as long as possible. He gave the elephant another rinse with the garden hose he had been using and petted him on the forehead. "Thanks for trying to get me out of it, anyway."

The elephant let out a little noise from its trunk, as though perfectly understanding the situation.

* * *

It was not a happy morning for Peter, either. Then again, when had it ever been? Even when delegated the responsibility of feeding Dr. Mendoza's "guests," it was often too much for the young man to bear—seeing the horrified, pleading looks on their faces, their whispers to him to let them free…

He had retreated to his room after the morning feeding, absently staring at the wall as he scratched the golden retriever behind the ears.

"This isn't right," he said to Emerald. "Those people are hurting in there—and I'm letting it happen."

The dog let out a whine.

"…That makes me just as bad as they are, doesn't it?" Peter asked, thinking about the doctor and his daughter.

He ran a hand through his blond hair. How had he ever gotten himself into this mess, anyway? This was not what he had wanted at all!

He wasn't a bad person, was he? Not when he hated doing this—when he wanted to help those poor people be free. But what could he possibly do for them? Dr. Mendoza had cameras everywhere; he'd be able to stop Peter from freeing the before he'd even have half a chance to try.

He'd just have to tell Dr. Mendoza that he wanted to quit working for him. It wasn't worth betraying his own heart—to say nothing of keeping innocent people as guinea pigs—to keep doing this.

He found that his resolve was soon to be tested.

"Peter?" Dr. Mendoza barked. "Peter, get over here at once!"

Peter gulped, hoping that his resolve was strong enough.

"Come on, Emerald," he said, and the dog followed behind him as he headed to the laboratory room.

"Peter, I have been thinking long and hard about your reluctance to aid me with my research—"

"So have I, Doctor," Peter said. "I've decided that I… Well, this isn't what I want to do."

"What do you mean, Peter?"

"I mean that… I'm just not into the whole scientific progress thing, you know? I think I need to explore other career opportunities."

Dr. Mendoza gave Peter a scathing look, causing him to back away, nearly tripping over Emerald.

"And just where do you think you will go, Peter? Where will you stay?" Mendoza asked him. "What will you do?"

"Well, I…" Peter trailed off, blinking. He didn't have the answers for that; what else could he do?

"I was the one who took you in, Peter, when no one else would," Mendoza reminded him. "I gave you a home and a job—and money, when you don't even do what I ask you to do. How do you expect to survive with nothing?"

Peter lowered his gaze, staring at the floor.

"I don't know," the boy confessed. "I guess I didn't think too much about that. But this isn't what I want to do, either."

"Then, by all means, leave," Mendoza said. "I expect it will only be a matter of time before you come back. And you know that as well as I do. But you have other things to worry about now; unless you do as I demand, you will lose this job regardless—and even if you come back, I will not let you return!"

"What do I have to do?"

"You will get me a new guinea pig!" Dr. Mendoza insisted. "And you will do it by tonight. I can no longer send my daughter out, and that leaves only you."

"But, what if I can't?"

"Then you won't have to worry about working here when you seem to loathe it so much!"

Peter winced. As much as he hated it here, he knew that Mendoza was tight—he had no other choice.

"I have to find you a guinea pig… by tonight?" he repeated.

"That's right," Dr. Mendoza said. "And don't bother coming back here without one, understand?"

"Yes, Doctor."

"Good. Now, go; you need all the time you can get. Also, take the dog with you; people tend to trust other people with dogs."

"Guess we don't have another choice," Peter mumbled. "Come on, Emerald."

The dog looked up at him with sad eyes, but followed Peter out the door anyway. The boy was at a loss as he headed down Rosebud Lane. How could he knowingly deceive someone into losing their freedom—perhaps even their entire consciousness or personality, as well—just to keep his job and home?

"I wish there was another way," he said, softly, to no one in particular. "Somewhere else for me to go… someone else I could turn to…"

But more upsetting than the thought that he had no one to turn to was the persistent feeling that he had, at one point, someone—no, multiple people—to turn to… but that he had since lost them.

* * *

A hungry man is a weak man—which is why Mike realized he must have fallen asleep on his feet as he stood at the counter. The sound of the shop door opening caused him to suddenly awaken.

"Welcome to the Texas Bluebonnet," he said, as he snapped to attention. "How may I help you…?"

Mike trailed off, blinking at the odd-looking man in the suit who had walked through the door. The man seemed to had a permanent smirk etched on his face and gave Mike a chill down his spine. More than that, it was Diamond Jim's furious reaction—angered calls and displaying his crest—that alerted Mike to the fact that something didn't seem right about this strange, smirking man.

Mike cleared his throat.

"How may I help you, Sir?" he asked again.

"Actually, my dear boy, I am here to help you," the man said. "My name… Well, I have many names, actually. But I believe you would know me best as Mr. Zero."

"…Uh-huh," Mike said. "Well, if you want to help me, buying something would be a great way to do it."

"I have no use for money; I never carry it," Mr. Zero said. "But I've found that people here can't live without it."

"Yeah, well, it's difficult to keep yourself fed without it, so I guess it's pretty literal that we can't live without it," Mike deadpanned.

"And you _are_ hungry, aren't you?" Mr. Zero pressed.

Mike shrugged, not quite sure where this was going.

"When did you last have a square meal?" Mr. Zero went on.

"Look, Man, is this an interview or something?" Mike asked, getting annoyed. "If you're not here to buy, then why are you here?"

"I told you, I am here to help you. I can get you out of this easily," Mr. Zero said, pulling a piece of paper and pen from his pocket. "All you have to do is sign right here on this special contract."

"What's this?" Mike asked, trying to read it, but Zero quickly pulled the paper out of his reach.

"It's just a little… promissory note, shall we call it?" Zero asked. "Just a little agreement; there's no need to read the fine print."

"I'm hip; I know better than to sign something without reading it," Mike said. "What's the catch?"

"The 'catch,' if you wish call it that, is that after a certain amount of time, you will agree to stay with me. That's all."

"Uh-huh," Mike said, his eyebrows arched. "Well, as generous as your offer is, I'm going to have to turn you down. You see, animals are pretty good judges of character, and Diamond Jim here seems to think that signing that there contract wouldn't be the smartest of ideas."

Mr. Zero's eyebrows arched now, as well.

"You listen to a chicken?"

"Oh, you'd be surprised how wise those Texas prairie chickens can be," Mike said, a little smirk on his face. "Besides that, I'm just not desperate enough to sign something blindly like that."

The smirk now faded from Mr. Zero's face. He had not counted on Mike's morals and resolve staying the same despite his altered memories and terrible situation. Never matter, though; before he would be through with Mike, the boy would be beyond desperate. In the meantime, he could try working on the other Monkees.

"Very well," Mr. Zero said. "But you can, at least, accept this gift, free of charge, no strings attached." Seemingly, out of nowhere, the man pulled out a flowerpot containing an odd, bud on top of a gnarled, thorn-covered stem. "You will find, Michael, that this plant will put an end to all of your troubles."

"How; does it grow money, or is it edible? Because if it doesn't do either, I'm not interested."

"It's special," Mr. Zero said, simply, placing the plant on the counter. "Keep it. I promise that should you sink further into the depths of despair, it will be a way for you to escape them."

"Uh-huh," Mike said again, casting an unimpressed look at the flower bud. "Well, thanks for your generous donation."

Mr. Zero gave a nod and left the shop, but Diamond Jim was still agitated by the plant on the counter. Mike obligingly picked it up and put it away on one of the shelves.

"I don't know why you're so edgy," Mike said. "Sure, he was a weirdo, and I'm wondering why he wanted me to sign a contract that would say I'd have to stay with him, but he seems harmless enough. I'm even more curious about what the deal is with this here flower bud."

Diamond Jim protested loudly again, and Mike blinked as he heard a warning voice in his head.

 _You can't trust Mr. Zero. Don't sign anything. Don't even accept the plant. Throw it out the window_.

Mike looked to Diamond Jim, whose feathers were still ruffled in agitation, and then looked back to the plant.

Something strange was going on. And something told Mike that his troubles were only going to grow from here on out—if that was even possible.


	4. Such a Pity, the Shape I'm In

It was one glorious moment as Davy urged Saph beyond the grounds of the Hall; the freedom he felt was so tangible, he was convinced he could reach out and touch it. And this was just the start—Davy's mind was zealously making plans for the next day's excursion, and then the days after that. He would go farther and farther with each passing day, distancing himself more and more from this dull and dreary Hall.

As Saph galloped faster and faster down the wooded trail, Davy could feel his spirit soaring. He paid little heed to Creech's calls for him to slow down; the majordomo was not an experienced rider, and Davy was able to outdistance him with ease.

And yet, despite the fresh, spring breeze swirling around him, Davy still felt that something was missing. Yes, he was ecstatic to finally be free, but… why was he still not fully happy?

Saph had no doubts; the roan seemed to know exactly where he wanted to go, and Davy let him choose. The boy took note of the postings all around the trees and wondered why they were passing so many advertisements for a circus not too far away. Did Saph have his eye on some of the circus mares? No, that couldn't be it…

As Davy continued to ponder over both the posters and his own mixed emotions, he was unaware of Mr. Zero materializing behind a tree up ahead.

The Prince of Darkness scowled at what he was seeing; Davy was not supposed to have left the grounds; his captivity was supposed to have been his part of the curse to bear—to be so desperate that he would sign over his soul for freedom! And worse yet, that dratted stallion was heading for the one place that Zero did not want him to go—he could not risk Davy and Micky crossing paths; even if they wouldn't be able to remember each other, it was their separation that was supposed to be key to his entire plan!

He could not let this go any further.

As Davy and Saph raced by, Mr. Zero snapped his fingers. A loud crack issued through the expanse of the woods, and the sky turned blood red for just twenty seconds. But it was enough.

Davy had looked up in shock at the sound and the red sky; he had only a second to do so when the equally-shocked Saph reared up on his hind legs with a shriek of a whinny. The sudden stop had thrown Davy forward, resulting in him smacking into Saph's neck as the roan reared; the boy fell, grabbing onto the saddle at the last second to slow his fall down. Creech's horrified cries to him rang in his ears as he hit the ground.

Davy tried to shake off the fall, but, suddenly, _everything_ started shaking. With a yelp, Davy clutched at the ground in desperation as it violently shook beneath him. The earthquake threw Saph off of his hooves, as well, resulting in the horse falling not too far from Davy. Another crack issued from above the boy, and he looked up in time to see a large branch from one of the trees start to break; he rolled out of the way just in time, the branch missing his head by a fraction of an inch.

Davy stared at the fallen branch beside him with wide-eyed horror as the quake finally subsided. The sky had reverted to its normal blue color again, as well, but neither Davy nor Saph dared to move a muscle in case an aftershock was soon approaching. Creech, on the other hand (who had fallen off of his horse, also), was at Davy's side almost immediately after the shaking stopped.

"Master David! Master David, please say something!"

"Wh-what is there to say, Creech?" Davy asked, amazed that his voice wasn't quivering nearly as much as he thought it would have been.

Creech breathed a sigh of relief, but it was short-lived.

"You are hurt," he observed, seeing a bruise on Davy's arm from where he had hit the ground. "We should go back at once; I'll have the car sent—"

"Creech, no…" Davy said, trying to sit up despite Creech's attempts to keep him from doing so. "It's not bad; I can still ride once Saph gets back on his feet. Look, there he goes now!"

The blue roan obligingly managed to make it back on all fours (albeit with a slight tremble), as did Creech's horse.

"If you are absolutely certain, we will ride back," Creech said. "But it will be after I ensure that you are not badly hurt."

Davy's face fell.

"But—"

"I'm afraid I must insist, Master David."

"Come off it, Creech! That was an act of nature, that was! Do you really think someone actually _planned_ all that?"

But Creech did not back down this time, and Mr. Zero watched on, amused that Davy had no clue how right he was. And perhaps this would work out better than expected; after all, worse than not knowing freedom was to get a taste of it, only to have it taken away.

* * *

To say that Micky wanted to avoid helping the Masked Magician out was the understatement of the century; he took as much time as he possibly could to rinse the mud off of Rue, who was then moved—by orders of the ringmaster—to a mud-free enclosure behind a fence.

"Are you ready, Micky?" the magician asked, one of the large saw-box blades in his hands.

Micky let out a little whimper, seeing the blade, but nodded.

"Couldn't… couldn't we start with the small stuff first? You know, the cards and the doves?"

"Sleights of hand are easy enough; it's the big tricks that require practice, especially with a new assistant," the magician explained.

"Oh…"

Micky slowly walked over to the box, lifting the two halves of the lids open and then slamming them shut immediately.

"Hey, I know what!" he said. "Let's mix it up a bit! Why not have the assistant saw the magician in half…?"

"Micky, I promise you, the ringmaster did not pay me to give you an unfortunate accident."

 _Yeah, as if you'd tell me if he had_ … Micky thought.

Suppressing a shudder, he opened the lids of the box and laid himself down, keeping his eyes shut as his head and feet stuck out from the sides.

"…I know it's a tall order," the magician said. "But the magician's assistant is supposed to be charming and upbeat."

Micky gave him a dark look.

"…But I guess that isn't completely necessary. Are you ready?"

"Yes; tell me when it's over," Micky said, shutting his eyes again.

The magician now approached him, the blades in hand, but paused as the sky turned red. Micky, who had sensed the color flashing from behind his closed eyelids, now opened his eyes, staring at what he saw.

Rue suddenly vocalized loudly, looking extremely agitated. Without waiting for anyone to try to calm him, the young elephant crashed through the fence surrounding him, making a beeline for the direction away from the forest.

"Well, there goes my elephant…" Micky sighed. His eyes widened as it sunk in. "There goes my job! Rue! Rue, come back!"

He leaped out of the box, inadvertently smacking the magician with the box lids as he chased after the fleeing pachyderm.

It was then that the earthquake triggered by Mr. Zero reached the circus grounds, throwing Micky off of his feet. The boy landed face-first in the dirt, quickly covering his head with his hands as tents collapsed around him and as the remaining animals struggled to free themselves to get away, meeting with limited success.

Micky still remained in that position, even after the shaking stopped.

"Micky!" the magician exclaimed. "Are you hurt?"

"Did someone get the number of that tectonic plate?" the boy asked, finally daring to look around. He winced as he saw that most of the tents had indeed collapsed; they would have to be re-pitched, assuming the support columns hadn't been damaged. Part of the big top had come down, and adding to all of the obvious confusion were the cries and roars of the agitated animals.

And then he remembered…

"Rue!" he yelled, getting to his feet. The young elephant was nowhere in sight. "Oh, Rue…"

The magician tapped Micky on the shoulder, indicating the approach of the sour-faced ringmaster, whose eyes were bearing into Micky as though he somehow blamed the boy for all of this.

"Why are you calling for Rue?" he inquired.

"He got scared by the earthquake," Micky said. "Well, I think he sensed it coming, actually; I heard that elephants can do that—sense the seismic waves, I mean. He crashed through the fence just before the quake hit; I don't know where he went."

"Then you'd better find him!" the ringmaster ordered. "It's your fault for putting him behind that flimsy fence!"

Micky stared; the unfairness of this was incredible.

"You told me to put him behind that fence so that he wouldn't get all muddy again!" he protested. "How was I supposed to know that he'd sense the earthquake coming and head for the hills?"

"That doesn't matter!" the ringmaster snarled. "Do you know how much that elephant is worth?"

"Well, I know you can't exactly pick them up cheap at the pet store, but even so, it's not like I let him out on purpose…"

"He's worth a hundredfold more than you—maybe even more!" the man informed him. "If he's not back here by tomorrow morning, you're out of a job. And then you'll be footing the bill."

"But I'm all but broke!" Micky exclaimed. "I have nothing!"

The ringmaster now brought his face an inch from Micky's.

"It is possible to have _less_ than nothing. Remember that."

Micky could only stare in open-mouthed shock.

"I suggest you start looking for him," the ringmaster went on. "Remember—tomorrow morning."

Micky didn't stick around; he turned tailed and ran off in the direction where Rue had run off to, only able to hope that he could find the elephant in time.

* * *

Peter had been wandering Malibu aimlessly with Emerald faithfully by his side. He couldn't bring himself to so much as open his mouth to the carefree people passing by. They were people who probably had family or friends who would be concerned and worried if they went missing. Peter couldn't allow himself to ruin so many lives just to keep his job and his home.

If only he could find someone like him—who had nothing to lose, and had no one to worry about them. But even then, could he actually go through with it, knowing what would be in store for them? Probably not.

He aimlessly kicked a small pebble as he walked along the beach, listening to the sound of the waves. He looked up to hear the call of the seagulls—white shapes against the clear, blue sky…

…At least until the sky turned red.

Peter stopped in his tracks, gawking at the sky for a moment as Emerald let out a frightened whine, trembling.

And then Mr. Zero's earthquake reached the beach. In his ensuing panic, Peter hadn't realized that staying outside in the open would have been a safer option, but Peter grabbed the golden retriever, running to the nearest solid structure he could find—a white-painted beachhouse he had just passed by, the door surprisingly unlocked—and he dove under a table, howling dog and all.

Emerald finally calmed down as the earthquake subsided, and Peter breathed a sigh of relief.

"Well, I'm glad that's over," he said, crawling out from under the table. "But I wonder why the sky turned red just before…"

Peter trailed off, taking a good look at his surroundings for the first time since entering the beachhouse. And he could only stare at the haphazard decorations all around, topped off with an old fire extinguisher by the door and a sign reading "In case of fire, RUN." In a chair against the far wall was a wooden dummy dressed in a three-piece suit. But what caught Peter's attention the most was a set of instruments in the alcove—two guitars nestled in their cases, a pair of maracas and a tambourine lying beside them, and all of them lying in front of a set of drums covered by a sheet.

What was this place? Why did it seem like he belonged here? And why… why was that horrible feeling of loss eating away at his insides more now than ever before? Peter didn't know, nor could he account for the tears slipping from his eyes. It was as though he belonged here, but he did not belong here alone.

And that made no sense whatsoever. He knew no one other than Dr. Mendoza and his daughter, and they certainly didn't belong here.

Peter now pulled the sheet off of the drums, the light shining off of the cymbals—full of a familiar warmth, yet unbearable to keep looking at.

But he couldn't tear himself away; the welling emotions—both good and bad—were starting to be too overwhelming.

Unbidden came the voices he had heard in his dream the previous night, the ones that had been calling for him out of desperation, pain and panic evident in their voices—voices that his mind could not match to any face, no matter how much he tried.

Peter's knees gave out from under him, his hand inevitably resting on one of the guitar cases. His head was a muddled mess of questions, fuzzy feelings of familiarity, and a longing wish for others to share this with—people whose voices he thought he knew, as impossible as it was.

* * *

Mike had been pacing the small amount of floor space ever since the meeting with Mr. Zero.

"So, let's see what we've got here," he said, as he paced. Diamond Jim watched him from his spot on the countertop. "We've got a guy who thinks I'm stupid enough to sign a contract without reading it, and he insists that all it is would be me promising to stay with him for an unspecified amount of time."

Diamond Jim vocalized.

"Yeah, I know you didn't like him," he said. "But I wonder why he wants me to stay with him in exchange for help. Does he think I'm some little kid in need of adoption or something?"

No; something told him that there was something far more sinister lurking behind the man's intentions.

The prairie chicken continued to protest, and Mike good-naturedly patted the bird on the back.

"Well, you don't have to worry; I have no intention of taking him up on his offer until I've figured out what his game is—and that I can win it."

Diamond Jim now looked at the odd bud on the thorny vine with clear disdain, his feather crest raised once again.

"You really want me to get rid of that?" Mike asked. "I was hoping someone would come along wanting to buy that weird thing."

He picked up the flowerpot with the odd plant. That odd man had said something about this plant putting an end to all of his troubles. How was it possible for one little plant to do all that? Was it really so valuable that he could sell it for high price? Ah, who was he kidding—he hadn't had a customer in ages. Flowers were not on the list of necessities for most people, and certainly not this ugly-looking plant.

There had to be something else to this little bud, then. Mike would just have to wait until it revealed its secret, whatever it was, and convince Diamond Jim that he wasn't making a mistake by doing so.

And that was going to be difficult, for the bird loudly protested as Mike placed the plant back on the shelf instead of getting rid of it.

"It's not hurting anything now," Mike told him. "But the minute it starts doing anything suspicious, it's out of here. And that's a promise."

Diamond Jim scratched at the counter in a displeased response.

Mike shrugged it off.

"We've got other things to worry about, like what we're going to do for lunch today. Sure, you can go around eating those bugs, but I'd like to get something edible for _myself_ today, too…"

He trailed off as he saw the sky turn red with a crack.

"Now what in the world is _that_ …?" he asked, heading towards the window for a closer look.

Diamond Jim flapped his wing, positively shrieking in alarm. It was when Mike turned to look at him that the earthquake reached.

As the potted plants started flying off of the shelves and as the larger ones tipped over, Mike had to traverse a virtual minefield as he crawled to the only safe spot in the entire place—underneath the counter, which just barely extended out enough to allow him to shield part of himself.

He grabbed the panicked fowl and hid, trying to curl up as much as he could to fit under the small space only just in time—a pot holding a suspended spider plant came crashing down upon the spot that Mike had been at moments ago, sending the pottery pieces and potting soil scattering.

He wasn't sure for how long the shaking had lasted; it always seemed that each second of an earthquake seemed equal to an eternity—same thing with twisters down in Texas, too. But, finally, it did subside, with both boy and bird managing to escape injury. Mike breathed a sigh as Diamond Jim's shrieks stopped—a sign that everything was calm once again, and would hopefully stay that way.

"Well, that was a close one, wasn't it?" he asked, letting the bird fly back to his spot on the countertop.

The bird then squawked in a mix of surprise and alarm, prompting Mike to quickly get to his feet.

The boy could only stare in open-mouthed shock at what the sight he was seeing in the quake's aftermath.

Every single plant in his inventory had fallen off of the shelves or fallen over, had they been on the floor. The pots were all cracked at the very least—most of them had completely shattered and the plants damaged—except for one: the odd bud that Mr. Zero had given him. Even the bags of potting soil and plant food had torn. And as if that wasn't enough, a section of the ceiling—the part over the back room where he slept—was buckling in, dangerously close to giving way completely; something outside had toppled over and landed on his roof.

Slowly, the boy pulled his wool hat off of his head for the sole purpose of running his fingers through his hair as he looked on, helplessly.

"This can't be happening…" he said, quietly, though he wasn't fooling anyone—not even himself. "This _cannot_ be happening…!"

But it was happening, and no amount of denial could make the scene of botanical devastation disappear, no matter how desperate Mike wanted it all to vanish or be proven to be a dream. His entire inventory was irreplaceably destroyed; he certainly didn't have the money for new stock. And insurance? Out of the question entirely; Mike had never been able to afford it at all.

The quake had lasted all but twenty seconds. But those twenty seconds had been enough for Mike to lose what little he had.


	5. Oh, What Can it Mean?

"Creech, will you please stop fussing over me?" Davy pleaded, as the majordomo insisted on using an antiseptic spray on the bruise on Davy's arm. The boy winced as the solution stung upon contact.

They had since arrived back at Hagglethorn Hall, the horses back in the stable (Saph restlessly pawing the ground again).

"I probably should call a doctor," Creech said, still looking concerned.

"Creech!" Davy exclaimed. "I'm not made of glass! I'm young—I'll heal before you know it!"

"Shall I cancel the meeting with the mayor? It might be a good idea since he will be assessing the damage from the earthquake—"

" _Creech_!"

The majordomo's face fell, and Davy's frustration and anger faded once again. It wasn't fair towards Creech, he knew, but he couldn't help it.

"Forgive me, Master David," Creech said.

"It's not your fault," Davy realized. "You're only doing your job. But that doesn't change the fact that…" He trailed off.

"You are unhappy," Creech said.

Davy lowered his gaze.

"Don't feel too badly about hurting my feelings, Master David. It didn't take a genius to figure it out."

"It's like I said earlier—it's not you," Davy promised. "It's this life… it's this _place_ … I… I've never felt so trapped in all my life… And not just trapped. I feel so… _alone_. You know that dream I told you about this morning—the one with those voices calling out to me? I felt that I was… Well, that I belonged with _them_ , not here."

"Do you believe in dreams, Master David?"

"I believe in this one," Davy said, without hesitation. He had never felt such a strong feeling before—the feeling that it was truer than anything else in his life. He couldn't ignore that feeling.

"It doesn't seem to be much to go on," Creech informed him. "This is reality, Master David. You are a wealthy, affluent person—many would kill to be in your place, and that it exactly what I am afraid of. And disregarding that, it would be most foolish to chase after something when you have so much as it is. The sad truth is that many people have wasted their lives running around because they believe in dreams… and the same applies to those who believe in daydreams, as well."

Davy blinked.

"Say that last part again?"

"The same applies to those who believe in daydreams."

Something clicked in Davy's mind.

"Homecoming Queen…" he whispered.

"I beg your pardon, Master David?"

But Davy wasn't paying attention. He could hear the voices from his dream again, and now, something else… a flash of an image in the back of his mind of himself standing in a rather shabby house by the shore, an object in his hands—a tambourine, was it? And there was a song—a song about believing in daydreams, and… people… three other people, their faces out of focus. And there had been three voices in his dream, too! But why couldn't he discern their faces? Who were they? And why was he with them?

"Master David?"

Davy gave a start, looking from Creech to the window outside.

"I have to find them, Creech. I have to find those voices!"

"But you have an obligation here," Creech said.

"And what about my obligation to them?" Davy asked. "Creech, I've never felt so strongly about anything before—"

"You cannot go blindly running around just because of a dream!" Creech exclaimed. "It isn't safe for the Earl of Hagglethorn to be wandering around with so many people just waiting to take advantage of you and run off with your money!"

"Creech, you can't go through life not trusting another person—how is that even living!"

"Even if you could find trustworthy people, it would be most unwise to go anywhere today—we might have to deal with aftershocks from that earthquake!"

Davy's frustrations were quickly returning now, and his mind was now furiously planning what to do next.

"Right," he said, icily. "I think you may as well call the mayor up and postpone the meeting, then; I think that's best for all of us."

"Yes, perhaps it is. I do think you've been more shaken by the earthquake than you think. Perhaps you should return to your room and rest for a while? I will have lunch brought up to you."

"Yes, you do that," Davy said.

It was pointless to argue, he knew. Creech was loyal, of course, but he was loyal to a fault. And as much as Davy appreciated his concern, it was not something he could continue to live with—not when there were people out there he had to find.

Shaking his head, Davy now headed to his room, but he froze in his tracks upon opening the door and seeing a man in a three-piece suit standing there in the middle of the room with a smirk on his face.

"Ah, there you are, David. My, you're looking well, considering that earthquake not too long ago.

"Who are you!" Davy demanded. "What are you doing here?" He turned his head down the corridor. "Creech! Hey, Cr—"

In an instant, the man seemed to teleport beside him, covering the boy's mouth with his hand.

"Silence! Why do you want to summon that nursemaid when you want nothing more than to escape him—and this prison you're in? I can help you be free," the man said. "Just like a bluebird, hmm?"

Davy turned his head sharply back towards the man, who removed his hand from his mouth.

"Go on," Davy said. Something about the man's choice of words, just like Creech had done only minutes ago, had stirred something in the boy.

The man now produced a contract and a pen.

"All you need to do is sign here—and you will never have to spend another minute in this dreary place."

Davy's eyes widened. It sounded much too good to be true… And that probably meant that it was.

"What do you get out of it?" the boy inquired.

"Well," the man said, with a wave of his hand. "You merely promise that after a certain amount of time, you'll stay with me."

"Why would you want me for?" Davy asked. "And why would I agree to go anywhere that isn't my choice? I'm not about to leave this prison for another one!"

"Master David?" Creech said, as he arrived. "Did you call…?"

The majordomo trailed off as he caught sight of Mr. Zero.

"Who is he?"

"I don't know, and I don't know where he came from," Davy said, glaring at Mr. Zero. "But kindly remove this intruder from the premises. And call the police!"

"With pleasure," Creech said, leering at Zero.

"Don't bother," Mr. Zero snarled. "I'll see myself out."

And he vanished in a cloud of smoke, much to the befuddlement of the boy and his employee.

* * *

Peter furiously tried to rub away his tears. He couldn't even understand why this place was doing this to him—it wasn't dusty at all, and there didn't seem to be any mold or other allergens. There weren't even any plants nearby to aggravate his hay fever, either, and even if there was, it wouldn't cause this sensation of sadness he was feeling. There was something more… something he couldn't explain.

He lowered his right hand again, allowing it to rest on one of the guitar cases again. Slowly, he unlatched it and opened the case, staring at a beautiful bass guitar. He ran his fingers down the wood and strings. The feel of it beneath his fingertips seemed incredibly familiar, and he even arranged his fingers into the position to play a chord when he realized that he somehow knew how to play this instrument. But how was that possible?

Before Peter could even think on it, the other door suddenly flew open, revealing a tall, burly man.

"What's going on in here? Who let you in!"

Peter jumped up to his feet, mouth open.

"I… uh…"

He pointed wordlessly to the back door.

"Earthquake… had to find shelter… Something about this place… I just had to look around; I'm so sorry…"

"You probably would've been safer outside," the man said, his expression losing its edge. The kid _did_ look badly shaken up and upset. In fact, the man bit his tongue despite the fact that the kid had brought that dog inside; he didn't allow animals, but the kid was upset enough as it was.

"I'm sorry," Peter said. "Is… is this place yours?"

"In a matter of speaking; it's for rent—pre-furnished. Those instruments come with it, I guess… If you're looking to rent, let me know."

"Yeah, I'll… I'll do that," Peter replied, glad that he didn't seem too upset about the intrusion. "Thanks, Mr. …uh…."

"Babbitt," the man answered. He paused as he studied the blond boy, certain that he had seen him before. "Pardon me, Kid, but you look awfully familiar. Have you been around here before?"

For some reason, hearing the question ended up pulling heavily on Peter's heartstrings again.

"I… I don't know…" Peter mumbled, looking around at the place. The tears were coming back to his eyes, despite his best efforts to blink them back.

Mr. Babbitt looked to him in concern.

"Is everything alright?"

"No," Peter answered, truthfully, his voice cracking slightly. "Something's wrong… very wrong. And I don't even know what it is, so there's no possible way I can make it right again…."

Unable to keep looking at it, Peter closed the bass guitar's case and re-latched it and then replaced the sheet over the drums.

"I think I should leave," he said, quietly.

"Look, Kid, I'm sorry if I upset you," Mr. Babbitt began. "You stay as long as you need to until you pull yourself together, okay?"

"No, really; I should go," Peter said. "Come on, Emerald."

The golden retriever looked up with a whine; he didn't want to leave, but didn't want to be left behind, either.

"…You named a _golden_ retriever 'Emerald'?"

"Well, I thought it was cute," Peter said, with a shrug. "See you."

Mr. Babbitt shook his head in slight pity as Peter and the dog left through the back door. He didn't seem like a bad kid at all. The landlord could only hope that he could get the help he needed to fix whatever it was that needed fixing.

As for Peter, he was disappointed to realize that the sad feeling didn't seem to be going away upon leaving the old beachhouse.

"I don't understand it," he said to the dog. "What was it about that place and those instruments—and even that landlord? It's like… that thing where you've felt you've done something before… What's it called again? Deer-ja view? Or something close to that, at any rate—"

He was suddenly cut off by a frantic voice yelling out for someone named "Rue," and then Peter let out a yelp as something collided with him, knocking him clean over to the sandy ground.

"Oh, gosh…! I'm sorry! Really, I'm so sorry! I didn't see you there, I… Here, let me help you up…"

"Oh, that's okay; it's just sand; it's not like it's concrete…"

Both Peter and the boy he collided with trailed off as they glanced at each other. Peter was certain that he was staring with his mouth open again; that déjà vu feeling he had just been describing exploded multifold in his heart—he had no memory of this boy who had just crashed into him, and yet… an incessant voice was whispering that he knew him.

The other boy seemed to be feeling the same way, based on his next words.

"Do I know you?" he asked.

Peter could only shrug helplessly in response; his head said "no," but his heart begged to disagree.

"Yeah," the boy said. "I don't know, either. But, hey, I'm really sorry about this. Here…"

He held out a hand to help Peter up, which the blond boy accepted.

"I'm Micky, by the way—like the mouse, but without the 'e,' the ears, and the tail."

"I'm Peter," the blond replied. "Like Spiderman, but without the spider-suit or all the special powers. And I'm not a reporter, either. And my last name isn't Parker."

Micky grinned, but his grin slowly faded as he realized what he had been doing out here in the first place.

"Oh, man; I'm sorry, but I really have to run," he said.

"…You do?" Peter asked, disappointed.

"Yeah, if I don't find Rue, I'll lose my job and the shirt off my back," Micky said. "You, uh… You didn't happen to see an elephant run by here, did you?"

"No, sorry," Peter replied. "Hope you find him, though."

"…You know, you're the first person to believe me?" Micky admitted. "You wouldn't believe the weird looks I got."

Peter just shrugged.

"Well… I'm not doing anything else right now; you want some help looking for him?"

"Man, that'd be great!" Micky said, his expression brightening. "I owe you one!"

"No problem!" the blond exclaimed. "Come on, Emerald!"

"Yeah, come on… _Emerald_?" Micky repeated, looking at the dog. "But that's a golden retriever!"

"Well, I thought it was cute," Peter said again.

"Ah, well, as the Bard said, 'What's in a name,' right?" Micky said, waving it off. "Let's go!"

Peter paused for the briefest moment before heading off down the beach right behind him. He wasn't quite sure how or why, but that empty void in his heart had significantly lessened in size—albeit not quite full yet. But it was a start.

* * *

"Okay…" Mike said, shutting his eyes as he inhaled and exhaled deep breaths. "I just need to get a grip. Yes, everything in here got smashed up. Still, it's not the end of the world."

He opened his eyes and cringed again at the sight.

"But it's pretty darn close!" he exclaimed in despair.

He got down on his hands and knees now, trying to scrape together the larger pieces of pottery and putting just enough potting soil in the jagged fragments to try to save whatever plants he could. It was a wasted effort, he knew, but he had to try something to salvage them; a few plants would mean the difference between a tiny amount of nourishment versus complete starvation.

He didn't even notice Mr. Zero reentering the shop, nor had he noticed the furious expression on his face; Mr. Zero had just come from the beach. He had already been in a sour mood due to Davy's feistiness and refusal to sign the contract, and he had just been ready to reveal his presence to Peter when, of all people, Micky had crashed into him. The Prince of Darkness had been ready to scream in frustration, but decided that he would deal with separating those two later; he had to get Mike to sign the contract before he ended up crossing paths with any of the others, too.

Mr. Zero announced his presence by kicking away a fragment of flowerpot that Mike had been reaching for.

"Hey!" the boy cried. "I probably could've used that…! Oh, it's you."

Diamond Jim resumed his alarm stance, and Mr. Zero cast the bird a dark look.

"Your fortune seems to have taken a turn for the worse since I last left you, Michael," Mr. Zero said.

"Well, it's… not the end of the world," the boy repeated.

"But it is 'pretty darn close,' isn't it?" Mr. Zero quoted.

"Alright, I did say that," Mike admitted. "But I'm still not desperate enough to sign some paper when I don't know what the deal is."

"The deal? Oh, to blazes with details! I'm giving you a way out; why aren't you going to take it?"

"Look, Man, I may be down, but I'm _not_ out," Mike said. He didn't know why his first instinct was to fight back against this mysterious stranger, but he figured that he ought to go along with it; Diamond Jim seemed to agree, too. "So I don't need a way out. Not yet. I'll get back up on my feet somehow, so I don't need to sign anything. I'd have to be _really_ desperate."

 _That can be arranged_ , Mr. Zero silently said.

"Now, if you don't mind, I have to figure out what I'm going to do next," Mike said. "So unless you want to buy something…"

He gestured to the mess around him.

"I already told you, I have no use for money."

"Yeah, you just have some use for my company," Mike said. "What do you want from me, anyway? What can I give you that someone else can't?"

"The satisfaction of victory," Mr. Zero said, simply.

Mike blinked. So many things didn't make sense, and they only seemed to be getting more confusing.

"Why do you need me to help you win?' he inquired. "I mean… Can't you fight your own battles?"

"My boy, the battle is ongoing as we speak. So let me help you now—and then you can help me win."

Diamond Jim shrieked in protest, and Mike took a look at the prairie chicken before turning back to Mr. Zero.

"I was always taught to go with your gut instincts," the boy said. "And mine is telling me that your victory wouldn't mean anything good for me."

"Gut instincts aren't always right," Mr. Zero informed him.

"Yeah, but, this way, if I mess up even further, at least it'll a lot easier for me to backtrack than if I signed something."

It was with quiet fury that Mr. Zero regarded the Texan. Mike was still giving him the same smug look that he had given him in the courtroom, and Mr. Zero found his hatred of the boy increasing even more.

 _There can be only one winner in this battle, and it will be me. I_ _will_ _break you, Boy. Before it is all over, you will be begging at my feet_.

Mike now broke their locked gaze and went back to collecting things together.

"I, for one, am moving on," the boy announced.

"You do that," Mr. Zero said. "Oh, and don't forget that plant I gave you. Since you won't take my help, maybe you'll at least find some use for it."

With that, he left, leaving Mike to glance at the odd bud once again. How odd it was—while every single one of the other plants had been, this one had remained intact. He picked it up, adding it to the small pile of items he was going to take, despite Diamond Jim's protests. After all, how much harm could one little bud do?

A voice in his head told him that he didn't want to know the answer to that.


	6. Today There is No Black or White

Mike had to admit that he felt unexplainably satisfied having sent Mr. Zero off without succeeding. But that still didn't change his current problem, he realized. Gathering everything he could, including the bud, he stuffed everything into a duffle bag. He then attempted to try to salvage his sleeping bag from the back room, but the ceiling further gave in, causing Mike to back off with a wince.

Diamond Jim, calm now that Zero was gone, paced the counter, watching Mike with curiosity, calling softly to him.

"I'm just… trying to… grab this…" Mike said, grabbing a broom handle to pull the sleeping bag away from the danger zone. "…There we go!"

He rolled the bag up and strapped it to the duffel bag.

"We can't stay here—the way our luck is going, if we stay the night, that ceiling's going to come down right on us. And we can't have that."

He swung the bags over one shoulder and offered his other shoulder for Diamond Jim to perch on. The bird took him up on it, and Mike headed outside, leaving what remained of the shop behind.

"So here's what we're going to do, my fine-feathered friend," he said. "You and I are going to rough it out there—get all the berries we can from our thicket in the woods. And then, after dinner, we're going to sell what we can—and then we're going to spend it on non-perishable food to get us through until we can figure out what to do next."

The prairie chicken blinked, but remained quiet as, slowly, they made their way through the outskirts of the city. Mike was so absorbed in his planning, he barely noticed a large, gray figure running off in the direction of the beach. By the time he did a double-take, the thing was gone.

He shook it off. Clearly, he must've been seeing things; for a moment, he thought he had seen an elephant out of the corner of his eye.

Mike continued on, softly singing bits and pieces of a song he wasn't sure where he had heard before—something about listening to a band. His feet began to ache after the first couple hours of walking, but he ignored it; he was starving, and he knew that dinner would only be at the end of his walk.

Another hour went by, and then another. The summer sun's rays made it even harder; Mike had to take his hat off after some time until he reached the edge of the forest, sighing as he passed beneath the welcome shade.

Diamond Jim now let out a few vocalizations as they passed a few flyers advertising a circus. Mike didn't pay attention, though, not sure why the bird would be interested in that, of all things.

"Well, maybe if we don't do so well selling the berries, we might try seeking employment there," Mike conceded, when he did decide to take a look. "We'd have to come up with some kind of act, though. But never mind that; here we are!"

He threw the bags aside and headed into the thicket, searching for the berries. He quickly frowned; something was wrong. The berries that had been there only days ago—the last time they had been here—were now gone.

Diamond Jim squawked, scratching at the ground. Raccoon tracks were visible in the dirt, and it didn't take Mike long to put two and two together.

"No, no, _no_!" he exclaimed, plunging headfirst into the thicket in the vain hope that the raccoons had left _something_. But the patch had been picked clean—and Mike's long trek had been all for nothing.

The boy let out a yell of frustration, startling the prairie chicken as he emerged from the thicket. He now ran straight to the duffel bag, angrily pulling out the bud that Mr. Zero had given him.

"All right!" he yelled at the plant. "I'll admit that my troubles are getting worse by the minute! So, you're supposed to get rid of all of my troubles, aren't you? Or is this all a big joke, too?"

Furious as he realized that yelling at this weird little plant would not do a thing for him, he angrily threw it down, turning away in disgust. He forced himself to calm down, trying to take deep breaths again.

_I have to keep a cool head about this. This still isn't the end of the world. This can't be the only berry patch in these woods—there have to be other forms of nourishment in here. I just have to find it_ …

His thoughts trailed off as he felt something wrapping around his ankles and Diamond Jim started giving his alarm call again.

"What…?" Mike asked, looking down. He let out a yelp as he saw large, thorn-laden vines wrapping their way up his legs.

Mike tried to look behind him, and his eyes widened as he saw that the mysterious bud he had just cast aside had suddenly grown rapidly in size, and the vines were extending from the spilled potting soil the plant had been in.

Mike quickly bent down, trying to pull the vines off of him when two more vines suddenly snaked from the plant, wrapping around each of his arms. Now caught off-balance, Mike fell over, prompting another vine to wrap around his torso. Panic rose within him, but the more he tried to pull away, the tighter the vines gripped him.

Diamond Jim was positively screeching, and as Mike realized that struggling only made it worse, he took the bird's example and started yelling for help.

"You can yell all you want to, Michael; no one can hear you out here," Mr. Zero's voice said, from behind him.

Mike tried to look over his shoulder, but couldn't from his position; still, he knew that Mr. Zero was standing over him.

"What is this, Man?" he angrily yelled. "You told me this plant was supposed to _help_ me!"

"Ah, I never said that," Mr. Zero said. "What I did say was that it would rid you of all of your troubles."

Mike's eyes widened in horror as he realized what Mr. Zero meant.

"That's right," the Prince of Darkness said, smirking at the dawning comprehension on the boy's face. "The dead have no worries… well no Earthly worries, that is—no worrying about where the next meal will come from, or what they can do when they don't have any money…"

"Call this thing off!" Mike ordered. "I didn't want this! I wasn't going to give up that easily!"

"Of course; you're a fighter," Mr. Zero said, sounding bored as he paced the area, not even bothering to help Mike. "You've been fighting me, haven't you? I told you, I needed your signature for my victory."

"You can't mean…"

The pen and contract appeared in Mr. Zero's hands again.

"Sign it, Michael, and I will, as you requested, call the plant off."

Mike's mind was racing. He had to get out of here, and yet… he knew that signing that contract would be something horrible.

"I… I…"

"You need _more_ time to think?" Mr. Zero scoffed. "Very well; I'll return later tonight and see if your mind has changed at all. You have until midnight, Michael—four hours from now; the plant will wait until then. And so will I."

"Yeah, but I won't! I'm going to find some way out of h—"

Mike was cut off as the next vine covered his mouth, wincing as a thorn gave him a small cut on the lip.

"I'll see you later," Mr. Zero said.

And he vanished as quickly as he had arrived, leaving nothing but the ensnared boy and the panicked prairie chicken.

* * *

"You'd think it'd be easy to track an elephant, wouldn't you?" Peter mused aloud, as he and Micky searched for signs of the pachyderm's presence. "Especially in the sand…"

"When they want to get moving, they can get moving," Micky said. "What I want to know is why Rue seemed to be heading here—to the beach."

"Well, there aren't any big buildings out here; maybe Rue thought he'd be safer out here," Peter offered. "The only building I saw was that beachhouse over there."

Micky took a look, stopping in his tracks for a moment as he saw the shabby-looking building. Peter saw the look on his face—it had been nearly identical to his own when he had been staring at the place, too.

_You feel it, too, don't you?_ he silently asked Micky, not wanting to ask it aloud due to how awkward it sounded.

Micky now turned back to Peter, slightly stunned, as Emerald barked, staring at the beachhouse, as well.

"That's… an interesting place," Micky said, not sure what to say. He had felt something, but that didn't make any sense. Why would the sight of a shabby, little beachhouse affect him so much?

"Isn't it, though?" Peter asked grinning. "We can take another look at it after we find Rue."

"Yeah," Micky agreed, turning his attention back to his conundrum. He led the way down the beach again until he happened upon a long piece of string—part of a net that someone had left behind. "You know, if I had some food for him, I could probably tie it to that string; he'd smell it out and come back for sure!"

"…I've got a peanut bar," Peter offered, pulling it out of his pocket. "Well, half of one, anyway—I got a little hungry and ate some of it earlier."

"Hopefully, that'll work," Micky said, tying it to the string and swinging it in circles over his head. "Come on, Rue! I've got a little snack for you!"

He and Peter walked a little further down the beach, still swinging the peanut-bar-on-a-string. At last, he heard a familiar trumpeting.

"Rue!" Micky exclaimed.

The pachyderm had been lounging in a tidal pool, finally calm now that the earthquake had long since passed; it had taken quite a bit of time to get that calm, though. Hearing Micky's voice now caused him to get up and head in that direction, and the boy grinned in relief to see him safe and sound, heading their way.

"He's safe," the younger boy sighed, as the dog and elephant greeted each other surprisingly warmly. "And so is my job."

"You need an elephant for your job?" Peter asked, as the elephant deftly picked the peanut bar with the tip of his trunk and gulped it down.

"Yeah; I work at a traveling circus," Micky explained. "We're in a field just outside of Malibu. Rue ran off because of the earthquake, and… well… my boss sorta told me that if I didn't find him, I'd be history."

Peter winced, reminded of his own dilemma.

"Well," he said, trying to put on a happy face. "I'm glad you managed to save your job!" _I just wish I could've been as lucky_ …

For the briefest instant, he considered the possibility of asking Micky to come back to Dr. Mendoza's lab. The idea fizzled away more quickly than it had arrived, and it left Peter feeling more disgusted with himself than ever before.

This did not escape Micky.

"Hey, what's wrong?"

"I'm the worst," the blond muttered bitterly kicking a small rock—imagining it to be himself.

"What brought this on?" the younger boy asked, stunned.

Peter looked back at Micky, briefly, his own guilt increasing as he saw Micky's look of genuine concern.

"…I'm sorry," he said, his voice hushed from shame.

"For what? What did you do?" Micky asked.

"It's nothing I did—it's… it's what I was thinking of doing," Peter said, furiously kicking another rock. "My job's in trouble, too—but I… I work for a scientist who specializes in mental research—with human experimentation. He sent me out here today to find him a new guinea pig, and… well, for a moment there, I thought…" He trailed off, unable to continue the thought. "Oh, Micky, I'm so sorry!"

He was about to kick another rock, but froze as he felt Micky's hand on his shoulder.

"You didn't go through with it," Micky reminded him. "You didn't even try it."

"But I thought about it—that's bad enough," Peter said, bitterly.

"I understand why you'd feel that way, but…" Micky shuddered—not at the thought of Peter trying it, but the fact that someone was manipulating him to do something so terrible. In fact, it made the boy angry that someone could ever try to take advantage of Peter like that—though he certainly couldn't explain the source of his anger. "I know… something tells me that there's no way you could've ever gone through with it."

Peter paused to consider this.

"Well, I haven't so far…"

"See? Listen, Man, you've got to tell the cops about this nut! You can't let him continue to do these things!"

"…But if I go to the cops… they'll blame me for helping him all this time. I mean… I never did any experiments or got any of the guinea pigs yet, but… I didn't stop him. I should've stopped him, but how can I stop scientific progress?"

"Scientific progress…!" Micky repeated, now grabbing Peter by both shoulders. "He's been messing with your head _without_ even experimenting on it!"

Peter blinked, staring at Micky in surprise. Micky's concern was so genuine—but why would he be so worried about someone he had only just met?

But something in Micky's words had given him an idea.

"I know what I have to do," Peter said, softly. "I can't let him hurt any innocent people anymore."

"That's right," Micky encouraged, not knowing what was on Peter's mind. "I know you'll do the right thing."

"I hope so," Peter said. He shook Micky's hand. "Hey, thanks."

"For what?" the younger boy asked. "You were the one who found my elephant, after all; I owe you."

"Well… thanks for just being here," the blond replied. "I'm really glad I got to meet you."

"Same here," Micky said. "Will I see you around?"

Peter hesitated as looked back into Micky's eyes.

"I don't think so," he said, honestly. And it tore him up to say it; these past several hours he had spent with Micky had filled that void in his heart from earlier. But now that he probably wasn't going to see him again, well… that void was starting to come back.

Judging by the look on Micky's face, he was feeling the same disappointment.

"Well," the younger boy said. "I'm glad I got to meet you, too, Pete."

"Thanks, Mick," Peter said, giving him a wan smile.

Micky's heart twisted a little more upon hearing him say that, and as Peter called for Emerald (who seemed just as reluctant to leave) and walked away, waving goodbye, Micky found himself blinking back tears as he waved back.

"Who was he, Rue?" he wondered. "And why did I feel like I knew him so well?"

Rue let out a little vocalization, sounding upset at seeing Peter and Emerald leave. And it was then, as Micky moved to lead the elephant back to the circus, that he heard a voice in his head.

_Don't lose him_.

Micky whirled around, just barely discerning Peter and Emerald walking up the boardwalk; they would soon be out of sight.

"Peter, wait up!" he called, running after him, with Rue cantering behind him. "Hey, Pete!"

But Peter was out of earshot, and Micky's voice was lost in the sounds of the ocean breeze and the crashing waves; between the distance, the noise, and the heavy troubles weighing on the older boy's mind, he wasn't aware of Micky's calls. Micky paused, slightly disappointed, but knew he had to keep going.

Somewhere, a clock tower chimed ten times; the whole day had gone by, and Micky hadn't even noticed—all that concerned him now was that he did not lose track of Peter. He had found something precious upon finding the older boy… something he couldn't explain. And that was why he didn't care about his aching feet or the pain in his side from all the running he was doing just trying to keep Peter in sight.

"Pete…!" he wheezed, but he was breathless from running; there was no way Peter would've been able to hear him, even if he had been within earshot. Nevertheless, Micky continued to follow all the way back to Rosebud Lane. Realizing that Peter had reached his destination—and the likely abode of the madman he had been talking about—Micky led Rue to an approach from the side so that they would remain out of sight.

It had been a wise decision; Dr. Mendoza himself opened the doors, looking at Peter with a frown.

"I thought I told you not to come back here without a guinea pig for me!" the doctor chided.

"I've taken care of that," Peter said. "You'll have your guinea pig. But I'm not going to allow you to experiment on innocent people anymore, scientific progress or not!"

"Yes, yes, of course," Dr. Mendoza said, waving a hand in dismissal. He would have the boy singing a different tune once food and shelter were on the line, he knew. "Now where is the guinea pig?"

Peter drew himself up to his full height, looking the mad doctor squarely in the eye.

"You're looking at him," the blond said. "If it'll stop you from hurting people who never did a thing to you, then I'll take their place."

The doctor looked on in stunned surprise. And, yards away, poor Micky's mouth fell open in silent horror.

* * *

The remainder of Davy's day was, in his mind, beyond intolerable. True, he had felt rather unnerved by the fact that some strange man had managed to find his way in and out of his room, but Creech had seen it as nothing less than the fact that the entirety of Hagglethorn Hall was under attack, and that Davy was the one the encroachers were after.

All of Davy's appointments that day had been canceled or postponed, with the doors and ground-floor windows all locked and bolted. Creech had even ordered the drawbridge over the castle's moat pulled up, effectively sealing the place off.

Furthermore, Creech had instructed that someone stand guard outside Davy's room at all times and accompany him at all times if he went anywhere else. Had it been up to Creech, he would've had someone standing guard _in_ Davy's room, but the young Englishman vehemently drew the line at that.

And even then, with his room being his only refuge and means of privacy, it was still too much. More than once that day, Davy had been driven to the point that he wanted to just scream in utter frustration, but just barely managed to compose himself.

Creech knew that Davy had become even more upset than he had been earlier, but insisted that this was for his own safety. Still, between the constant guards, the multiple food tasters, and the sheer sensation that the castle's stone walls were all but closing in on him, Davy could not bring himself to appreciate it one iota.

Day turned to evening, and evening turned to night as Davy continued to pace his room like a caged cat. Creech looked in on him, inquiring as to what time he intended to turn in. Davy's reply was unintelligible, but there was no mistaking the frustration in his voice. Creech was apologetic, but knew that words wouldn't help.

It was after Creech left that Davy realized that if he was to keep his sanity, he would have to escape—get as far away from Hagglethorn Hall as possible. It would break Creech's heart, he knew; the majordomo pretty much lived to serve and protect him. But Davy couldn't take anymore of this.

The grandfather clock in the hall chimed eleven, and the sky outside was dark and moonless, dotted with stars that wouldn't do much to cast any light below. Now would be the perfect time, while the sentries' rounds were taking them to the other side of the castle.

Davy ran to his closet, grabbing an assortment of clothes, the leftovers from dinner, and a few pocketfuls of cash and stuffing them into a small bag. He also hastily placed a penlight into his pocket before pulling all of the sheets off of his bed and proceeding to tie them into a rope. Yes, it was a clichéd means of escape, but given his current situation, with the doors locked tight, it was his best bet for success. Hopefully, no one would notice the rope of sheets from the window until morning—and, by then, Davy hoped to be far away.

After testing the makeshift rope several times, Davy tied one end of it to one of the posts of his canopy bed and successfully clambered down until his feet hit the ground. He sighed, pleased at his success so far, but then realized he had another problem—getting past the moat somehow.

He stood there, looking around as he pondered before his eyes fell upon the stables and the grounds. Hugging the shadows of the castle, he crept towards the stables. Saph turned in his direction as he entered, nickering softly.

"Shh," Davy instructed, petting the blue roan. "Saph, we're getting out of here—you and me. We need to be quiet, and we also need to ford the moat."

Saph seemed to understand, and was perfectly silent as Davy got on his back and slowly and quietly rode him out of the stables. The horse didn't even make a sound as he trudged through the murky moat water.

"Good boy," Davy whispered, patting him on the neck.

Once they had crossed the water, Davy urged the roan to move faster, not even looking back as they left Hagglethorn Hall behind them. Davy's spirit was soon soaring again as it had in the morning, and he urged Saph into a gallop, feeling the welcome night air swirling around him as they charged ahead down the trail in the woods.

_This is what I'm meant to be_ , he silently declared. _Free_.

His thoughts were eventually halted by the strangest sound he had ever heard, just barely audible over the sound of Saph's hooves.

"What is that…?" he asked aloud.

Saph slowed down to a stop, his attention turned towards the sound, as well. It sounded like the calls of a bird, but they were quite frantic.

"Never mind it, Saph," Davy said. "It's just a bird."

But Saph did not continue; he attempted to head off of the trail, trying to slip through the trees towards the source of the sound.

"What are you doing?" the boy chided the stallion. "We need to be far enough away by morning!"

But the horse, for the first time, was not listening to Davy; he pressed on towards the frantic bird calls, despite Davy's loud protests.

It was then that Davy heard something else—a human voice… or it seemed to be a human voice, at any rate; Davy couldn't tell, but it sounded as though the voice was muffled, as though gagged.

Davy now got off of Saph's back as the trees grew thicker.

"Hello…?" he called, hesitating slightly as he moved forward. "Is anyone out there? Can you hear me?"

The bird calls stopped, leaving the unmistakable sounds of a human voice—indeed, the voice was garbled.

Davy pulled his penlight from his pocket, hoping vainly that the light would somehow catch whoever was out here.

"Where are you?" Davy asked. "Are you in some kind of trouble?"

The muffled replies were getting louder; Davy was definitely heading in the right direction, but the tiny penlight beam couldn't properly illuminate everything he needed to see. More than once, Davy walked headlong into a tree trunk. Biting back a curse each time it happened, he pressed onward.

The sounds were now quite loud—he must be close! But he still couldn't see a thing in the darkness.

"Hello?" he called again.

Before he could receive the next garbled reply, Davy tripped over something, falling smack on his face—hitting something solid on the ground before turning over. This time, he did let out a quiet curse, for something had given him a small cut on his face.

And then he heard the muffled voice, right beside his ear—close enough to discern that whoever it was pleading for help. And for the briefest instant, Davy recalled the voices from his dream—for one of them sounded… exactly like this voice, albeit clear and not garbled.

Slowly, Davy reached a hand out. His fingers came into contact with hair and fabric—wool, was it? Yes, a wool hat. His heart in his throat, Davy aimed the penlight straight ahead, the narrow beam barely illuminating the face of a boy a few years older than him, framed in dark hair and a wool hat. But what horrified Davy was the look of fear and panic in the older boy's eyes—to say nothing of the painful-looking thorn-filled vine covering the boy's mouth. A quick sweep of the penlight revealed that the boy was completely wrapped up in similar vines, unable to move, and that a panicked bird—a fowl of some kind—was by his side.

There was something else Davy was feeling, too—an ache within him that grew the more he looked at that face. It was as though he knew this person, but that couldn't be possible… could it?

"Just… just hold on," Davy said. "I'll get you out of this… somehow… I promise; I won't leave you here."

But things suddenly got worse. A far-off clock struck midnight, and, suddenly, the captive boy's eyes widened in pain. The vines around him started writhing, and Davy realized, shocked, that they were getting tighter and tighter—forcing the older boy's breaths to become shallower.

Davy gasped in horror, vainly trying to pull on the vines to stop them. It was a fruitless effort—Davy only succeeded in giving himself more cuts from the thorns, and the captive boy's skin was getting noticeably paler.

The unfortunate captive let out a quiet, muffled sound—it sounded like an… apology. Davy's eyes widened again; the other boy was losing his battle.

"Keep fighting it!" Davy ordered him, now trying to bite the vines with his teeth out of desperation. He could not let this paradoxically familiar stranger die—he could not! "You can't give up now!"

But the captive's eyes started to go out of focus—a sign that unconsciousness was rapidly closing in on him.

" _No_!" Davy cried, trying to pull the older boy up by his rapidly-slacking shoulders. "You have to keep fighting! You have to stay awake, or else the vines will get tighter! Come on, fight! _Fight_!"

Davy shook the older boy's shoulders, and though the unfortunate captive tried his best to stay awake, it was also fruitless, and he slumped over against Davy, out cold, his borrowed time now even lesser than it was before.

And Davy couldn't hold back a tear as he sunk into despair.


	7. Walk the Night but Never Know Each Other

Back at Rosebud Lane, Micky was still out of sight, but still able to hear every word and see Peter's defiant look as he glared at Dr. Mendoza.

_What are you doing, Pete?_ Micky thought furiously. _When I told you to do something, I didn't mean for you to offer yourself up as a guinea pig! I meant for you to let the authorities know… or maybe the two of us letting them know together_ …

It wasn't fair, he realized. Something had told him not to abandon Peter—that he couldn't lose him. And now Peter was giving himself up, just like that? Hadn't he felt anything, either—anything telling him that he couldn't afford to lose Micky?

The younger boy suddenly blinked. Maybe… maybe that was why Peter was doing this in the first place? If he came back to the lab empty-handed, this mad doctor would inevitably inquired about his whereabouts all day—and that would lead to Peter being forced or tricked into talking about Micky. This way, though, Mendoza couldn't question him since he was giving him the new guinea pig he so badly wanted.

_Oh, Peter_ … Micky thought.

He continued to watch with baited breath as Mendoza glanced at Peter, clearing considering what to do.

"Very well," he said. "If that is what you have decided on, then I will not stop you. My boy, you will be making a grand leap for science!"

It was clear that furthering science was the last thing on Peter's mind as Mendoza led him inside, with Emerald following reluctantly. Micky now made a dash for the doors, but they locked behind the scientist, and the boy couldn't budge them.

"What happens now…?" he asked, quietly.

"Nothing," a cold voice spoke from behind Micky, causing him to yelp with fright.

Micky whirled around as Rue let out a low trumpeting sound, his ears flapping back and forth in agitation. The source of Rue's nervousness seemed to be the smug-looking man in a three-piece suit that now stood before them, seemingly appearing out of nowhere.

"Who are you?" Micky asked. "And what do you mean there's nothing I can do? There has to be something—I just haven't thought of it yet!"

Mr. Zero merely smirked at Micky's worry; he had been concerned about Micky and Peter crossing paths, but, now it seemed as though things would be working out for the better—Micky was in greater pain than before, having reunited with Peter without being able to remember him, and now being torn away from him again. He would be desperate, and Mr. Zero knew just what to do about that.

"You will find that there some things that are impossible for one person. A boy like you, for instance, can do very little against Dr. Mendoza. What hope do you have of helping your friend, even if you managed to get inside?"

Micky gave a little shrug.

"I don't know," he admitted. "But, then again, I never seem to know what I'm doing. I just go with it."

He tugged on the heavy, wooden doors again, but only succeeded in making his arms hurt from the effort.

" _I_ could get him out of there," Mr. Zero said.

Micky looked back at him.

"Really?" he asked.

"Why, yes. It would take me less than five seconds."

"Then what are you waiting for?" Micky exclaimed. "Work with me here!"

"Unfortunately for you, there doesn't seem to be anything in it for me," Mr. Zero said, tsk-tsk-ing at Micky.

"But… But I have to help him!" Micky exclaimed, his heart sinking as Mr. Zero taunted him. "Please… stop playing around! I'd do anything to help Peter right now!"

"Say that again," Mr. Zero said, his eyes flashing with eagerness.

"I… I said I'd do anything to help Peter right now?" Micky asked, suddenly feeling uneasy as he looked into Mr. Zero's eyes.

In the blink of an eye, a contract and pen appeared in Mr. Zero's hands.

"Care to make it official?" he offered Micky. "Just sign on the dotted line, and I will get Peter out of there."

Micky seized the pen, but paused. Rue's trunk was now wrapped firmly around his wrist, refusing to let him move it.

"Rue, not now!" he begged. "We have to get Peter away from here!"

But Rue fiercely clung to Micky's wrist.

Mr. Zero, in the meantime, glared daggers at the elephant. First the prairie chicken, and now the elephant; would the dog and the horse act the same way? The Prince of Darkness silently chided himself for having cast the curse so quickly. Had he taken more time about it, he could've done more than just merely seal the Monkees' memories away—he could have destroyed the memories completely. In his haste to case the curse, though, he took the option of sealing them, despite the knowledge that sealing them would result in a tangible vessel for the memories. He knew from experience that the memory vessel was almost always a living thing—an animal that best reflected the victim's spirit—which would then serve as the vessel for the lost memories. The stronger the spirit, the stronger the animal's will. That had been why first Diamond Jim and now Rue had reacted so angrily upon seeing him; they were remembering what Mike and Micky could not. To top it off, there was nothing Mr. Zero could do regarding the animals' presence; the very same seal that locked the memories away protected the animals from harm—that little side effect of the curse was beyond Mr. Zero's control, and he knew exactly Who had been responsible for creating that little loophole.

The Prince of Darkness now cast a furious glance Heavenward.

_Well played_ , he admitted. _But this is not the end_.

It was no matter, Mr. Zero decided. Even if the memories were in the four vessels, they were still inaccessible. And if Mr. Zero destroyed the means of unsealing the memories, the animals would no longer be protected. And once the animals died, well… that would render the memories lost forever. He just had to ensure that the Monkees didn't unlock the seals before Mr. Zero had the chance to destroy the keys. And even if, by some fluke, the Monkees figured out how to unlock the seals, having their memories back would mean nothing if they had already signed their souls over to him. Maybe Mike and Davy had been too savvy to sign without reading (though Mr. Zero was sure Mike would change his mind out of desperation to avoid his fate with the plant, momentarily unaware of the fact that Davy had found him), but Micky seemed to be ready to sign—if only that elephant would stop trying to hold him back…!

"Rue, I said we don't have time for this!" Micky exclaimed, finally wrenching his hand free from Rue's trunk. "There. Now, where do I sign this…?"

Micky trailed off as he heard a frantic barking coming from the east side of Mendoza's place.

"Hey, isn't that Emerald?" he asked to no one in particular.

He headed off in that direction.

"But the contract…!" Mr. Zero exclaimed, frustrated. "You haven't signed yet!"

"Yeah, hold on a sec!" Micky said, tossing the pen back to him. "I'll be right back!"

Mr. Zero gnashed his teeth in frustration as Micky dashed around the side of the building, Rue right behind him. They could see Emerald looking out of one of the first floor windows, barking.

"Hey, Pete!" Micky called, clambering on Rue's back to get a better look. "Peter, are you in there?"

The blond boy now arrived at the window, thoroughly stunned to see Micky there. A look down made him realize that Micky had accepted a boost from Rue; being a young, adolescent elephant, Rue wasn't as large as he was going to get, but he was tall enough for Micky to pull this off. But that still didn't explain why Micky and Rue were both here in the first place.

"What are you doing here?" Peter asked

"What am _I_ doing here?" Micky repeated in disbelief. "Man, what do you think _you're_ doing?"

"You told me that I couldn't let Dr. Mendoza continue to hurt innocent people," Peter said. "I thought that this was the best way, especially since…" He trailed off. "Well, I didn't want him drilling me and finding out about you."

"I figured as much," Micky murmured, quietly. Then, he spoke up. "But you still can't let him experiment on you!"

Peter sighed, looking back at Micky. He certainly didn't want it, either.

"But it's too late now," he said. "This room here is the lab; he's coming down here in a few minutes to start the experiments. And he's locked the door, so I can't get out, even if I wanted to."

"But if you _had_ a way out… you'd take it?"

"Well, yeah," Peter said. "Assuming I had a place to go after I found a way out."

"Then come with me!" Micky exclaimed, gesturing to an empty spot on Rue's back. "I have an extra fold-away bed in my camper at the circus; you could stay there as long as you need to!"

Peter's mouth fell open in stunned surprise.

"You'd do that for me?"

"Of course I would!" Micky exclaimed.

"…Why?" Peter asked. "Why would you stick your neck out for me like that when you only just met me?"

Micky opened his mouth, not sure how to answer that. Yes, they had only just met, but it certainly didn't feel that way.

"Look, just get out of there before it's too late!" the younger boy said, at last. "Come on!"

Peter couldn't reply; his throat was welling up from emotion. He merely nodded, and after passing Emerald to Micky through the window, he clambered out, as well, landing on Rue's back.

"That mad doctor's going to go even more nuts when he sees you gone," Micky said, as the elephant lumbered off. "Especially since there's no apparent way out of that room." His smile turned a bit more wan as he looked back at Peter. "I'm glad you decided to come along; I'd have missed you."

Peter gave another nod, trying to clear his throat.

"I'm glad, too," he said.

Something told him, deep down, that he wasn't going to regret it.

* * *

Davy was beside himself, not even bothering to halt his tears as he struggled in vain to free the now-unconscious older boy from the writhing vines. His hands were bleeding from the thorns, but that wasn't what was hurting; the pain he was feeling was something deeper, and it was increasing by the moment as he realized that he was unable to help this poor boy—whoever he was.

"I'm sorry," he said, softly, but meaning every word.

The sheer helplessness Davy was feeling was utterly devastating; it was taking every ounce of strength he possessed not to break down upon the realization that there was little he could do other than watch this boy in the wool hat slip away as the prairie chicken continued to cry out in a panic.

But as Davy looked into the other boy's rapidly paling face, something came over him. He could not—would not—let this happen! He had to save him!

With a cry of rage mixed with the hurt he had been feeling, Davy furiously pulled at the vines again, pausing for only a moment as he realized that he still had his bag slung over his shoulder; inside was his dinner—more importantly, the table knife he had been using.

Davy quickly rooted through the bag for the knife and started using it on the large vine wrapped around the captive's torso. The seconds ticked by until, finally, he had hacked away enough to snap the vine.

The captive's chest heaved as he gasped for air, which was partially blocked by the vine across his mouth. Davy went to cut that next; he had just succeeded in snapping that vine, as well, when, out of nowhere, a new vine wrapped itself around his arm, trying to stop him from cutting any more.

"No…!" Davy yelped, trying to free his arm. But the vine was rapidly tightening around his arm like the coils of a constrictor.

With his free hand, Davy used the penlight to try to find the source of the vines, and he soon saw it—a large, closed bud only a couple feet away. He dropped the penlight in shock, the narrow beam now illuminating the older boy's pale face as he gasped and gulped at the welcome air returning to his lungs.

Slowly, the older boy's eyes opened. They were still out of focus, but they were looking up in Davy's direction as he struggled to free his snared arm. Davy glanced back at him as he realized that he was being watched.

"I… it's going to be okay," Davy said to him, not sure if he was making a promise that he wouldn't be able to keep. "Somehow, it will be…!"

But how could he possibly do anything? This monster plant thing had him now in addition to the first captive. For once in his life, Davy wished Creech was here to help him, but he was on his own now.

Davy clenched his free hand into a fist as he realized that, yes, he was alone—and that was something he had wanted. He had to get out of this alone, if for no other reason than to prove it to himself that he could.

As quickly as he could, he grabbed the table knife from his ensnared hand and plunged it into the odd flower bud with the other. A chill ran down his spine; he could hear a loud shrieking sound, and he realized that it was the _plant_ screaming. But whatever he had done seemed to work; his arm was freed as the vine holding him started to flail.

And, slowly, the remaining vines around the captive were flailing away, as well. Davy pulled the captive away; it wasn't a difficult task despite the fact that the other boy was a head taller than him—he was alarmingly thin. And as Davy retreated, the plant seemed to be retreating in the opposite direction; Davy still didn't relax until the plant was completely out of sight.

Soon, all was silent, save for the older boy's gasps; the prairie chicken had fallen silent, relieved that the boy was free. Davy now breathed a sigh of relief, wiping the sweat from his forehead before glancing down at him and trying to support him to sit up.

"Are you okay…?" Davy asked.

The older boy couldn't speak yet, still catching his breath after his harrowing ordeal, but he held out a hand, placing it on his rescuer's shoulder. Davy had to hold back a few more tears as that feeling of unexplained sadness grew within him; his emotions in turmoil, he drew the older boy into a brotherly embrace, not sure if this was to reassure the older boy or to reassure himself.

* * *

For Mike, the events of the past few hours had been physically and emotionally taxing. Since Mr. Zero had left him to the mercy of the plant, any attempt to try to free himself had ended with him only getting wrapped more tightly. Diamond Jim had spent the time screeching and squawking loud enough to wake the dead, but no one had come—not until about a few minutes before the midnight deadline, when Mike had heard the sound of hoofbeats. He hadn't stopped to question why someone was riding a horse in the woods; he merely did his best to call out for help, despite the vine gagging him. He hadn't been sure that the traveler could hear him, but as Diamond Jim had fallen silent, he had heard a voice calling out to him—an English accent that had sounded so hauntingly familiar, despite being a voice that Mike couldn't place; had he not been in such a dire situation, Mike would've pondered over the mass of emotions that the voice had caused to well up within him. As it was, he had kept on calling out to him, not sure if the traveler would be able to find him.

And then, suddenly, he had felt someone trip over him, and then saw a small flashlight beam pointed at him… And then he had heard his rescuer promise that he would, somehow, get him out of this…

Mike's hope had soared at that moment, but it was short-lived as midnight arrived and the plant had tightened around his chest. It hadn't taken long for his weakened body to start to shut down from the lack of oxygen. Despite the frantic pleas of his rescuer to stay conscious, Mike hadn't been able to hold on. But the sheer despair in his rescuer's voice had startled Mike; he had seemed so… _broken_ as he begged and pleaded for Mike to fight. The care and sorrow in his voice had been so genuine. But why?

Mike had no idea, but he had been determined to hold onto his last threads of consciousness as he slumped over. He had been vaguely aware of the younger boy's apology, and then as he had suddenly snapped, hacking at the vines with a knife. Mike's full consciousness had started to return once the pressure of the vines had been released from his chest, and, at last, he had found himself able to breathe once the vine gagging him had been cut, as well.

But then, the thing Mike had feared would happen had happened—the plant had turned on his rescuer. As Mike looked up at the younger boy, horrified, he had been astounded that the boy's response was to try to reassure him, despite the fear prevalent in his own voice. Fortunately, something had stirred in his rescuer then, and he had the idea to attack the plant. Though he had been shocked and startled by the sound of the plant screaming, Mike had quickly turned his attention to his rescuer, who had now pulled him away from the plant as it released them, inquiring if he was okay.

Mike, still trying to catch his breath, hadn't been able answer, so he summoned what strength he could to place a hand on his rescuer's shoulder to assure him that, yes, he would be okay, thanks to him.

But Mike had not expected the hug that came after that. And now that the fear was gone from his heart, all of the other emotions he had been holding back during his ordeal rapidly replaced it; now, he was blinking back tears, too. It was so overwhelming to think that a stranger would show him such genuine kindness and concern, and the thought that this was a stranger hurt all the more; in fact, his heart was screaming at him that this was no stranger, but that made no sense.

This surge of emotions was getting to be a bit too much for the weary boy; unconsciousness was beckoning to him once again—this time, to merely rest with the intent to awaken later. And, somehow, he knew that he was in good hands and would be looked after until then.

As he sunk back into blanket of unconsciousness, he forced his lips to part long enough to whisper two words to his rescuer.

" _Thank you_."

It was a thanks that encompassed many things—for saving his life, for showing him kindness, for being there… for finding him.

And Davy, concerned that Mike had passed out again, was reassured that he would be alright—and also moved by the fact that Mike was so grateful that, despite his weakened state, he felt as though he had to thank him.

But now Davy had another problem. What was he going to do now? He had completely forgotten that he had been running away from Hagglethorn Hall—he couldn't possibly take this boy along with him, and he certainly couldn't leave him here! And Davy had no idea how far away the nearest hospital was, and even if he had an idea, he still didn't want to leave this boy there; something was telling him not to lose him, and Davy wasn't going to question that strong feeling.

Davy let out a sigh now. There was only one option; he would have to take this boy back to Hagglethorn Hall. It would be worth it, he decided, if it meant that this boy would recover. And, besides that, maybe—just maybe—life at Hagglethorn Hall would be a little bit more bearable.

His mind made up, Dave drew Mike's arm around his shoulders so that he could support him as he stood up. The prairie chicken followed them as Davy carried Mike to where Saph had been waiting anxiously. It took a bit of maneuvering to get Mike up on the horse's back; Diamond Jim flew up to be with him, and Davy now got on the horse, as well.

"Can you manage, Saph?"

The horse let out a confident whinny in response, and Davy took that as a yes. He led the horse back to the hall, once again across the moat, and returned Saph to the stable. Diamond Jim let out a quiet vocalization, staying on Saph's back as Davy maneuvered Mike off, once again supporting him as they returned back to the space beneath Davy's window. The bedsheet ladder was still there in the shadows of the castle; amazingly, he hadn't been gone long enough for the sentries to take notice. All that was left was to deal with gravity.

Davy now pondered for a moment, wondering how to get past this last obstacle. There was no way he could carry Mike up while climbing, but Davy wasn't about to give up after beating that monster plant.

A lightbulb finally went off in his head, and Davy now tied the end of the bedsheet ladder into a sling under Mike's arms. The younger boy climbed up first, and, now back in his room, pulled the makeshift rope ladder—and Mike along with it—up, as well. It took quite a while, but Davy kept at it, and soon, Mike was in the room, too.

Davy placed Mike in the armchair in the room and took a moment to rest before removing the sling and proceeded to untie all of the sheets and replaced them back on the bed. Once he had finished, Davy now moved Mike to the bed, tucking in the sheets around him and placing the wool hat on the bedside table. Mike stirred slightly, but did not awaken, instead burrowing into the luxurious bed.

And as Davy sighed, he managed a smile, happy and relieved to see him doing so much better.

"You're welcome," he said, softly, returning his thanks from earlier.

He closed the curtains on the canopy bed and now sat in the armchair, his own weariness catching up with him.

Between the earthquake, the mysterious man, his attempted escape, and his fortuitous encounter with this boy, it had been a very strange, heartwrenching day. On the other hand, something told him that now that this boy was here, things were finally going to get better from now on.

He sank deeper into the chair, sleep claiming him as, for once, he found himself looking forward to whatever the next day had to hold.

* * *

The only one who was not happy was Mr. Zero. Micky had never come back to sign, and the Prince of Darkness really did scream in frustration as he saw Micky and Peter riding off together to the circus. His frustrations increased a hundredfold as he returned to the forest and saw that Mike was gone without a trace, as was the plant.

Mr. Zero looked around, baffled, but could only find Mike's duffel bag and sleeping bag, abandoned. Somehow, he had been freed and had seemingly run for it, taking that dratted chicken with him. But where had he gone?

Mr. Zero let out a low hiss. He would have to find out where that boy had gotten to; it was imperative that Mike suffered the most to pay for his insolence! Zero held onto the idea that Mike was wandering the woods somewhere, weak and hungry; it would be easy to catch up with him, he was certain. All he had to do was keep chasing him down until he broke—and oh, he would break.

But Mr. Zero knew that he also had to split up Micky and Peter as soon as possible, as well as get them—and Davy—to sign his contracts. It was clear that the Prince of Darkness would have to resort to even dirtier tricks to pull this off, and he was willing to do whatever he had to.

He smirked to himself. The game was about to get even more intense. And he would be the sole winner.


	8. Pack Up All the Pain

Micky rolled over in his fold-away bed in protest as the rising sun streamed through the window of his camper. He had just been holding onto a wonderful dream—that he had finally found a friend who had filled a missing void in his heart…

"Man, that sunrise sure came early this morning, didn't it?" he grumbled to no one in particular.

"Not really," a voice replied. "It's actually on time, but it just seems like it was early since you were up late last night rescuing me from Dr. Mendoza."

Micky's eyes flew open, staring back at Peter, who was busy making a couple sandwiches as Emerald patiently waited and hoped for dropped food.

It wasn't a dream! Peter was here—he was really here!

"Morning," the blond boy said, with a smile. "Uh… hope you don't mind I was making breakfast."

"Oh, no problem; help yourself," Micky said, grinning back. "In fact, can you make a sandwich for me while you're at it?"

"Sure!" Peter said.

Micky hopped out of bed now, still trying to grasp the thought that this was real when he heard a familiar pounding on the camper door.

"Dolenz, open up!" the ringmaster bellowed.

"Uh-oh," Micky muttered, frantically waving for Peter to hide.

The blond boy got the hint and grabbed Emerald, hiding behind the rack of clothes. His sneakers were still visible, though; Micky would just have to hope that the ringmaster's powers of observation wouldn't be up to par first thing in the morning.

The younger boy opened the door of the camper, greeting his boss.

"I got Rue back just as you ordered," he said.

"You got lucky," the ringmaster said. "Be grateful that you were able to do this one thing right, at least."

"Believe me, I am grateful," Micky said, but for a different reason altogether.

The ringmaster continued.

"We had to cancel today's shows because we're still cleaning up from yesterday's earthquake," he said. "I want you to go around and help out—make sure everything is in order and ready to go for tomorrow."

"Yes, Sir," Micky said, saluting again. "Ah, does that mean I don't have to be the Masked Magician's assistant anymore?"

The ringmaster rolled his eyes.

"Is that the only thing concerning you? Well, too bad; if he needs help, you're going to give it to him."

Micky let out a nervous little chuckle, making a mental note to visit the magician dead last.

"I expect to see you out there working in fifteen minutes," the ringmaster said. "Feed the animals first, and don't make me tell you not to slack off again."

"Not at all," Micky promised. "Oh, uh… One question, though. I was wondering if you wouldn't mind the idea of me possibly finding a volunteer to help out with setting everything up for tomorrow?"

The ringmaster's eyebrows arched.

"I'm not signing anymore paychecks," he said. "If this able-bodied volunteer you find doesn't mind working for nothing, he's more than welcome to do it."

"I'm sure we can work something out," Micky said. "I'll get to work right away, in the meantime."

"See that you do," the ringmaster snarled, turning away and slamming the camper door shut.

Micky let out a sigh and sat back down as Peter emerged from his hiding place, apparently stunned by what he had just heard.

"Well, that was rather rude of him, wasn't it?" the blond boy assessed.

"Working here, you learn to live with it," Micky sighed.

"That's terrible," Peter insisted. "Though… at least he isn't insisting that you hurt innocent people. So I guess he's got that going for him."

"Yeah, next to that mad doctor, the ringmaster looks like a saint," Micky agreed, suppressing a shudder. "Well, it looks like I'm going to have to eat and run—you heard the Saint; I've got a lot of stuff to do."

"I also heard him say that he didn't mind my helping out, too," Peter said. "I don't mind working for nothing as long as you don't mind letting me stay in your camper."

"Not at all," Micky said, instantly.

Peter grinned and got to work making Micky a sandwich as the younger boy looked around for his shoes that he had kicked off the night before.

"You know, I almost wish I could've had the chance to see the look on that kooky doctor's face when he realized you were gone," Micky said, struggling to reach one of the shoes, which had somehow found its way under one of the fold-away beds.

"I don't think he ever really counted on anyone wanting to help me out," Peter said. "At least, he seemed to think that no one would find me worth the bother."

Micky looked up, surprised.

"Why would he think that?"

"Well…" Peter began, but trailed off. "I guess he sort of painted the picture in a way that made it seem like no one would care what happens to some dumb kid who can't do anything right."

Micky could only stare, his rage against Dr. Mendoza only growing.

"He's a creep and a liar and doesn't know what the heck he's talking about," he said, flatly.

Peter managed a wan smile again.

"Thanks, Mick," he said, handing him the finished sandwich.

"And thank you," the younger boy said, sinking his teeth into the sandwich as he tried to lace his shoe with one hand. Abandoning it, he stood up and headed out the door. "Come on. We can get Rue and head on out—he probably could use the exercise after he practices his drum act."

"…Rue plays the drums?" Peter asked, thinking about the instruments he had found in the beachhouse the previous day for some unknown reason.

"Yeah; he's got a pretty good sense of rhythm, actually," Micky said. "I have no idea where he gets it from."

Peter made a mental note to tell Micky about the instruments in the beachhouse later as he headed after Micky; he tossed an extra sandwich to Emerald, who happily wolfed it down before following the boys out the camper door.

As Micky stepped outside, the thought did occur to him again that this circus wasn't where he was supposed to be. But with Peter here, that, strangely, didn't seem to matter much.

* * *

Despite his harrowing ordeal from the previous night, Mike's sleep was deep and undisturbed. Perhaps it was due to his exhaustion and hunger, perhaps it was due to the highly comfortable bed, or perhaps it was due to the odd feeling of security he had felt when his rescuer had hugged him.

Whatever the reason, he woke up refreshed, albeit still starving. He hadn't expected to be in a canopy bed, though; when he opened his eyes, he did stare for a moment at his surroundings, open-mouthed.

Surprise soon gave way to gratitude as he realized the full extent of the generosity of his rescuer—whoever he was. That voice—that accent—he was certain he had heard it before, yet he knew he would've remembered if he had.

Nevertheless, Mike had to find him… thank him again…

Davy, in the meantime, had stirred awake from his sleeping spot on the armchair; his thoughts had turned to his guest, as well. Hoping the older boy was okay from the last night's events, Davy got up and walked over to the bed, moving to open the curtains.

Of course, he had just attempted to open the curtains as the same time Mike had tried to, as well, in order to get out. The two boys found themselves nose to nose for a split second, upon which they both yelped in surprise, scrambling backwards.

"Don't do that…" they both said, in unison.

This then led to them staring back at each other. For Mike, this was the first time he had been able to see his rescuer's face, since it had been too dark the previous night. And now a lump was forming in his throat as he finally did look at him, a strange feeling of familiarity creeping into his heart.

"I… ah…er…" Mike stammered incoherently, attempting to clear his throat, but failing. "You, uh… Well…"

Davy had been struck silent, too, his bright eyes even brighter than normal with the tears he was blinking back as he, too, tried and failed to explain the familiar feeling in his heart.

The silence was broken by a knock on the bedroom door.

"Master David?" Creech's voice called.

Mike paled, and Davy put his finger to his lips as he closed the bed curtains, concealing the older boy before he opened the door.

"Yes, Creech?" he asked.

Creech gave Davy a look of concern. Something was on the boy's mind; he could tell that instantly. Besides that, something else was glaringly obvious.

"…Master David, did you sleep in your day clothes last night?"

Davy looked at himself. He had been so tired after rescuing Mike and bringing him back, he had fallen asleep minutes without bothering to change.

"I guess I did," Davy said, shrugging.

"Is everything all right?" Creech asked.

"It is now, Creech," Davy promised. "Though, if you don't mind, I'd prefer to have my breakfast in my room again today. And please have the cook make some extra food; I'm very hungry this morning."

"As you wish, Master David," the majordomo replied. He gave a bow and left, and Davy closed the door behind him.

Mike now emerged from behind the curtains now.

"Who the heck was that?" he asked, finally finding his voice. "He looks like he came out of a Boris Karloff movie!"

Davy gave a slight chuckle.

"Appearances are deceiving sometimes," he said. "Creech is the majordomo around here; he looks after me. Actually, he looks after me more than I'd prefer. Doesn't let me have much freedom around here."

"Oh, hovers like a helicopter, does he?" Mike asked.

"That's one way of putting it," Davy agreed.

"Then what were you doing in the woods last night? Not that I'm complaining, of course; if you hadn't been there, I wouldn't be _here_."

Davy hesitated, but gave a wan smile.

"I was running away, actually."

"From all of this?" Mike asked, astounded. "Look at this place! You got servants who wait on you hand and foot, a bed that's softer than a loft filled with clouds, all the food in the world…!"

"But I didn't have what I wanted the most," Davy said. " _Freedom_."

Mike looked at him, now realizing the full extent of what Davy had done for him last night.

"You came back here last night, though…"

"…That's because I ended up finding something that I valued even more than freedom," the younger boy replied, quietly.

There was no doubt now that this person he was talking to was one of the voices from his dream. Freedom seemed so unimportant compared to finding him.

Mike seemed to be moved by the younger boy's words.

"You know, I can't explain it either, Davy, but I think I found something, too, when you found me."

The younger boy blinked.

"What did you call me?"

"Oh, sorry. I thought I heard that butler of yours call you David, so I just…" Mike trailed off. He couldn't explain why he had addressed the English boy like that. "Well, it sounded like it fit."

"Oh, don't apologize," Davy said. "I was just… surprised…" He paused as he realized that he didn't know the older boy's name—despite feeling as though he should have known it. "Ah, what do I call you?"

"Michael," the older boy said. "Or you could just call me—"

"Mike," Davy finished for him.

The older boy smiled, but then his eyes widened.

"Diamond Jim…!" he exclaimed. "Where's my Texas prairie chicken?"

"You mean the bird?" Davy asked. "He's in the stable; he didn't want to leave my horse for some reason. He's fine."

Mike relaxed, but it was short-lived as there was another knock on the door. He quickly hid behind the bed curtains again as Davy opened the door to admit Creech with the food cart. The scent of toast, cheese, potatoes, fried onions, and grilled tomatoes and mushrooms filled the room; beside the main dishes was a platter of fresh fruit. The smell alone was driving Mike crazy.

"Will this be enough, Master David?" Creech asked.

"It should be," Davy said. "I'll be sure to let you know if I need anything else. Thanks, Creech."

Creech bowed again and left, and Mike practically leaped from behind the curtain.

"Help yourself," Davy instructed, taking a little bit of the food for himself. "I hope you'll find it to your liking."

"Man, after going without food for days, just about anything will be to my liking," Mike informed him, digging into the breakfast spread.

Davy's fork froze in midair.

" _Days_?" he repeated. "What happened to you?" He shook his head. "And how did _you_ end up in the woods with that monster plant?"

"…You wouldn't believe me if I told you," Mike said, through a mouthful of food. "I used to own a little flowershop downtown—the shop never really did all that well, which is why I hadn't eaten in a while, but yesterday's earthquake was the final nail in the coffin for it."

"You mean…?"

"Total loss, no insurance," the older boy responded, as Davy flinched in sympathy. "Some guy in a three-piece suit came by a couple times, though—offered to help me out if I signed some weird contract that said I'd stay with him after some time."

"You must be joking," Davy said. "That same fella was in here yesterday, trying to get me to sign the same sort of contract—said he'd get me out of this place, but that I'd end up staying with him after some time."

"You didn't sign, did you?" Mike asked, concerned.

"No; I turned him down."

"Good; I turned him down, too," the older boy said. "But he left me a little parting gift—that plant. Said it would get rid of all of my troubles. Didn't realize that he meant that it would take me out to do it. Anyway, I took that plant with me out to the woods—I thought that I could at least live off of the berry bushes for a few days, but the raccoons had picked them clean. That was when the plant took a life of its own."

"How long were you trapped like that?"

"Four hours—that was when you showed up. That guy in the suit tried to change tactics—said he'd tell the plant to set me loose if I signed the contract, and let it finish me off if I didn't. He said I had until midnight."

"That's why the vines got tighter when the clock struck twelve," Davy realized. "Man, I'm glad I got there when I did."

"So am I," Mike said, fervently. He paused in mid-bite. "…I owe you my life, Davy. I know a life for a life is the only way I could ever truly repay the favor, but I sure do hope it doesn't have to come to that."

Davy managed a smile.

"You owe me nothing," he said. "Just your being here is making this place so much more tolerable. …You _are_ staying, right?"

"Well…" Mike said. "I don't really have anywhere else to go. At the same time, I wouldn't want to impose."

"You wouldn't be; you would be here as my guest… my friend," Davy insisted. "I'd just have to figure out a way to explain to Creech how you got here; it'd crush him if he found out that I'd tried to run away…"

"Well, I don't mind hiding until you come up with your explanation."

"Then it's settled," the younger boy insisted, his smile further breaking into a grin. He had found one of those three voices from his dream, and he was not going to lose him! And, perhaps, they could find the other two voices together…

Mike smiled back and the two both resumed eating for some time until a thought crossed the Texan's mind.

"Funny," he said. "This Mr. Zero—that's what he introduced himself to me as—he tried to get both of us to sign some sort of contract in the same day. And then you just happen to end up finding me."

"Coincidence?" Davy offered.

"I don't believe in coincidences," Mike said. "Especially not in a case like this. What does this guy want with the both of us? He mentioned something to me about winning a battle, but he didn't make any sense. What's his angle?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," Davy said.

"Well, something is going on here, and you and I are smack in the middle of it," Mike said. "That means we need to figure it out."

Davy gave a nod of agreement. Yes, they would have to figure this out. But, at least, they didn't have to figure it out alone anymore.

* * *

Mr. Zero was back in his domain, furiously making plans and calculations. He would need to have to get some outside help if he was going to make his plan succeed. That was a bit more pride-wounding, but it would be worth it once he had all of the Monkees' mortal souls signed over to him.

One of the items of business was to find where Mike had gotten to. That could wait for a little while, though. There was also the matter of splitting up Micky and Peter, and Mr. Zero knew exactly how to deal with that. Let them have a little bit of time together first—so as to prolong their suffering later.

However, Mr. Zero knew he had to get Davy under his power before the boy did something rash—not knowing, of course, that he had already done it. But Mr. Zero knew just who to turn to in order to lasso Davy—the boy's weakness for girls could be easily exploited. Mr. Zero now crossed to a secluded area of his domain, where a slender woman with red hair stood, overlooking her little prison. A former dark sorceress, the lady's magical powers had been lost upon her defeat and her death, but she still retained her vast beauty—the power that Mr. Zero knew would break Davy's will.

"And how are we today, Miss Veran?" he asked.

The woman gave him a dark look.

"What do you want?" she asked, bored.

"I would like to make a deal," Mr. Zero offered. "I know you miss having your dark powers. But if you were to do a little something for me, I would restore your powers to their fullest extent and allow you the opportunity to spend time outside the Netherworld."

Veran's expression changed.

"Such a generous offer…" she mused. "What's in it for you?"

"Being a step closer to victory," the Prince of Darkness hissed.

"Oh, yes—those four musicians," Veran said, smirking. "I heard about that. If you're coming to see me, then things must not be going so well for your plan, hmm?"

"I don't need you to be a commentator; I need you to seduce one of those musicians!" Mr. Zero snapped.

"Oh, really? Which one?"

"The Jones boy."

Veran looked away.

"…That one? Why, he is only 18—a mere child," she sniffed. "They are impossible to corral!"

"You will have no trouble with this one; the mere sight of a girl can be enough to freeze him in his tracks," Mr. Zero assured her. "But, just to be safe, I will give you this."

He snapped his fingers, and a tube of lipstick appeared in his hand, which he offered to the witch.

"I have laced this lipstick with a love potion," he said. "All you need to do is get him to kiss you, and he will gladly sign over his mortal spirit just for the chance to merely see you once again."

"And you'll be standing right there, just waiting with a contract for him to sign, won't you?"

"Naturally."

"Isn't that little underhanded?"

"That's the beauty of being the Prince of Darkness. You don't have to play fair," Mr. Zero replied, smugly. _Besides, playing fair with the whole trial was what had started all of this_ …

Mr. Zero now snapped the fingers on his other hand, where a contract and pen appeared in soon after.

"Just for formality's sake," he said. "You've got nothing to lose, seeing as though you're already doing time here."

Veran gave the contract a quick scan and signed it, and Mr. Zero snapped his fingers a third time. Veran's black robe changed into a black dress, and her teal appearance changed to a more human shade.

"That will prevent you from standing out in California," he said, and he handed her the lipstick and some papers. "And those papers will grant you access to Hagglethorn Hall—you will tell the majordomo that you are from the Hagglethorn Charity Association."

"Right," she said. "I bring the boy straight to you?"

"I will be waiting outside the hall," Mr. Zero agreed. "If I know the Jones boy, it'll take you all but five minutes to kiss him."

"And once I get my lost powers restored, could we arrange my… borrowing the boy to serve as one of my minions?"

"Seeing as though he would be signing the contract to spend time with you, I'm sure we could arrange something," Mr. Zero said, admittedly amused at the thought of Davy serving a dark sorceress. "Now, get going; I want you to time this so that you arrive in time to have lunch with the boy. I need to meet with one more person now to ensure my victory, but I'll join you at the hall a little later."

He smiled, pleased, as Veran applied the laced lipstick, confident that she would be soon regaining her powers. And Mr. Zero left, confident that he would soon have Davy at his mercy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sorceress whom Mr. Zero speaks to at the end of the chapter is not my character; she's a oneshot villainess from a video game series I adore, and I usually try to have her causing trouble at least once in all of my fandoms….


	9. Think I'll Let Her Keep on Going

It only took an instant for Mr. Zero to reappear inside the bar known as the Purple Pelican—a frequent watering hole for the various factions of the underworld. Mr. Zero had been here many a time before, tempting greedy or desperate souls; there was never a dearth of them here, but, today, Mr. Zero was seeking out a specific face—to be specific, a face that was a perfect mirror image to one of the Monkees.

It didn't take the Prince of Darkness long to find the man in the gray fedora; Baby Face Morales was surrounded by his cronies, all having a round of drinks and, most likely, planning their latest heist.

 _His resemblance to the Dolenz boy is absolutely uncanny_ , Mr. Zero mused. _Yes, he is the one who can ensure my victory!_

Baby Face cast Mr. Zero an unimpressed look as he walked over to them.

"You're blocking my light," he said, darkly. "What do you want?"

"I come to offer some words of wisdom, Mr. Morales," Mr. Zero said. "Take the time to listen to me, and I will make it worth your while."

"Get lost," the gangster responded, cynically. "What could you possibly have that would interest me?"

Mr. Zero reached into his pocket, pulling out a handful of gold coins he had taken from the vault in Hagglethorn Hall when he had been there the day before.

"Access to the gold in the vaults of Hagglethorn Hall," Mr. Zero responded. "Yours for the taking."

Baby Face now looked interested, as did the rest of his gang, but he also looked suspicious.

"There's a hitch, isn't there?"

"No hitch," Mr. Zero promised. And he meant it; he had other ways of getting Baby Face to sign one of his contracts. Right now, this was all about making the Monkees suffer, and, for that, he would willingly shower the gangster with riches without any strings attached—for the moment, anyway. "I wish to bring ruin to the Earl of Hagglethorn, and while it would be easy for me to take the fortune myself, I simply have no use for it. I would assume that you and your crew would be able to make use of a fortune in gold."

Baby Face's eyebrows arched.

"So you want to use me to settle your little personal vendetta?" he asked, unimpressed again.

"Hold it, Baby Face," one of his flunkies said. "Sure, he's askin' us to solve his little personal problem here, but you can swallow your pride for a bit to get us all a fortune in gold, can't you?"

"Shaddup, Vince," Baby Face said. Yes, a blow to his pride was worth a fortune in gold, but he saw no reason to make that clear to Mr. Zero so quickly.

He now turned to face Mr. Zero, blissfully unaware of who he truly was, and laced his fingers together.

"Keep talking," he said, a serene smirk on his face. "You just might convince me to go along with this."

Mr. Zero's face furrowed into a slight frown. Well, it didn't matter if he was being difficult now; it would be worth it if he could get him to agree eventually. And besides that, he was confident that Veran could handle Davy on her own.

* * *

Micky, in the meantime, was having the time of his life with Peter as they went around, helping the various acts finish up with the earthquake clean-up. Rue and Emerald were enjoying themselves, as well.

Several people inquired about Peter as Micky led him around. And though Micky introduced Peter as his new friend, it just didn't feel right, saying that. Instinctively, he would've introduced him as his best friend. It was something that Micky couldn't explain, but it was something that he felt too strongly about to just dismiss.

The majority of the circus folk took to Peter right away, amused and charmed by his genuine, sweet personality—the very same personality that Dr. Mendoza had attempted to take advantage of. But now, all the pressures put upon him by the mad doctor were off; he was free, and best of all, he had a companion to share his freedom with.

Even the Masked Magician seemed amused by Peter when Micky quickly introduced the blond boy to him.

"Say, Micky," he said. "Maybe he could get you off the hook. I still need an assistant, and since you don't want to take the role, maybe your friend here can!"

Peter went a bit pale at that.

"Micky…!" he quietly pleaded.

"Uh," the younger boy stammered. "Actually, I don't think that's possible; see, Peter here is allergic to boxes."

"What…?"

Peter took the hint and started a series of fake sneezes.

"It… it's all the sawdust," he said, between sneezes. "Tickles my nose something awful!"

"Yeah, you wouldn't want your assistant sneezing all the time, would you?" Micky said. "Say, I'd better get him out of here before he starts breaking out in hives. Come on, Pete; you'll be okay…"

The Masked Magician scratched his head in befuddlement as the younger boy led the older one away.

"Boy, that was a close one," Peter said, once they were far enough away. "Thanks, Mick. Hey, where'd you come up with that?"

"It just came to me out of the blue," Micky said, shaking his head in amusement. "To be honest, I really don't know what I was thinking; all I knew is that I couldn't let you be a magician's assistant…"

Rue let out a loud trumpet, and Micky suddenly trailed off as something in the deepest recesses of his mind flashed—a flash of memory: Peter, suspended in midair as he served as an assistant to a bizarre mentalist, staring blankly at nothing, in a deep trance, as the mentalist controlled his every move and action… and then Micky saw himself there, devastated and angrily yelling, " _You've freaked Peter's mind_!" And then he saw himself trying to snap Peter out of the trance, pleading for him to remember him…

"Micky? Micky, are you okay?"

Peter's voice snapped Micky out of his own daze; the younger boy gasped, now clutching at his head as he struggled to catch his breath.

"Micky, talk to me!" Peter cried, clutching the younger boy's shoulders. "Say something! _Please_!"

Micky now grabbed Peter's arms for support as his knees threatened to give way.

"What… what _was_ that?" he whispered, his eyes wide.

"You tell me!" Peter replied, relieved to finally get a response from him. "You just spaced out there, looking so stunned and… well, like you're looking now, only much more intense. And then you just grabbed at your head like it was hurting… Don't you ever scare me like that again!"

"I… I'm sorry," Micky said. "I was just… Well, I saw…" He looked back at Peter. "Look, are you sure we haven't met before yesterday?"

"I wasn't sure yesterday," Peter reminded him. "Micky, what happened to you? What did you see?"

"I saw you," Micky said. "Some creep was controlling your mind, and I was trying to snap you out of it, and… well…"

It wasn't just the vision, but the words he had heard himself say: " _I'm Micky—your best buddy and pal and friend through hardship and toil for years and years…!_ "

And, yet… didn't that fall right in line with the feeling that Micky had been feeling since yesterday—that he knew Peter from somewhere before?

The older boy listened to younger boy's story as he ran a hand through his blond hair.

"I can't remember that," he said, admittedly disturbed by the thought of someone apparently having controlled his mind. "I wish I could remember, though. I'm sure I was grateful for your help."

"I don't remember it, either. And it was my memory," Micky added, still mentally repeating the words he had heard himself utter. _Your best buddy_ … "At least, I _think_ it was my memory." _And pal and friend_ … "Maybe my mind's just playing tricks on me." _Through hardship and toil_ …

"I don't think so," Peter said. "If it was just you, I wouldn't have been feeling that I knew you from somewhere, too."

 _For years and years_ …

Micky looked back at Peter for a moment before shutting his eyes in frustration.

"It's not fair!" he exclaimed. "If we do know each other, why can't we remember it? Why am I stuck here getting browbeaten by that ringmaster, and why were you stuck with that mad quack?"

"Micky…"

"And why were you in that lab, and why was I here, if we'd met before?" Micky went on. His eyes widened in sudden horror. "What if… what if something happened… and we went our separate ways because we ended up hating each other, and we're just trying to block it out now?"

"I'll never believe that!" Peter said, giving Micky's shoulders a slight shake. "Look, I don't know anymore about this than you do—and I wish I could remember even just a little bit, but even though I can't, I _know_ there's no way that we ended up where we are because of something we did to each other! I mean… just the thought of asking you to go to Dr. Mendoza's lab yesterday made me sick to my stomach; I could never wish that on you—no more than you could to me!"

Micky opened his eyes, looking back to Peter with a hopeful expression as the older boy continued.

"I agree that it's not fair that we can't remember meeting before, but the important thing is that we found each other again now." Peter gave him a smile. "That's gotta be worth _something_ , right?"

Micky managed to return the smile, nodding.

"Darn right it's worth something," he said.

"Of course it is," Peter said. "Now, why don't you tell me everything you saw? Who knows—maybe I can fill in a few gaps…"

Micky nodded, telling him what little he had been able to remember. But then, he remembered something else about the vision.

"It wasn't just the two us," he realized. "There were two other guys—there was a tall guy with a hat trying to stall that creep, and then there was a little guy trying to help me snap you out of it…"

"Two more…?" Peter asked. Yes, that sounded right… just like the fact that he and Micky were supposed to know each other. "Do you think they're going through the same thing as us—not able to remember?"

"Maybe…" Micky said. "But we've gotta find them, if that's the case!"

"You know what? I have a feeling we will," Peter said.

Micky sighed, finally relaxing again. He hoped Peter was right, but he was willing to believe. After all, Peter had been right about how it did mean something that they had found each other.

It had meant more than Micky could ever put into words.

* * *

The more Davy talked with Mike, the more he felt that they had met somewhere before, as well, though he was a bit more timid about bringing it up to the Texan boy. Besides that, he knew it was impossible—yesterday had been the first time he had ever left the castle grounds… right?

Nevertheless, they talked and talked and talked—Davy unloaded his frustrations about being caged up in the castle while Mike ranted about how the whole world had seemingly turned against him until Davy had found him the previous night.

They had ended up talking all through the morning—to the point that Creech looked in on Davy again around noon (forcing Mike to hide behind the bed curtains again); it was most unlike Davy to sequester himself in his room without asking at least once to try to leave, and the majordomo found it most concerning.

"Master David, are you ill?" Creech inquired.

"Not at all," Davy insisted.

Creech had to admit that he had never seen Davy so cheerful and happy before. What on earth had brought this on?

He shook the thought from his head, deciding that there would be time to figure that out later; there were other things to deal with now. Davy had just requested lunch to be served in his room.

"Have you forgotten?" Creech asked. "A representative from the Hagglethorn Charity Association is coming to dine with you; we had to cancel the meeting from yesterday after the earthquake and the intruder, and so we rescheduled her meeting to take place during today's lunch."

"Oh…" Davy said, disappointed. He had been looking forward to sharing lunch with Mike—and he was sure that Mike would be hungry, as well. "I'll be down in a little bit, Creech."

Creech bowed and left again, and Davy turned to Mike, apologetically.

"Sorry," he said. "But I really can't get out of this one."

"…I think I see what you mean about being an unofficial prisoner," Mike said.

"Actually, I feel bad about leaving you all alone without any food," Davy admitted. "Will you be okay?"

"You kidding? A breakfast like the one I had could keep me going for a few days, if it came to that!"

Davy shook his head. How horrible it must be—to have to be _used_ to hunger.

"Well, there won't be any of that," the English boy insisted. "As soon as my lunch is over I'll see to getting you something."

"No need to…" Mike trailed off as Davy bolted out the door, prompting the Texan to smile in amusement. "…rush."

He chuckled to himself as he crossed to the window, looking out at the magnificent view. It struck him how lucky and fortunate he had been the previous night to have been found by someone who genuinely cared so much for him. Somehow, some way, Mike knew he had to return the favor, despite Davy's insistence that he didn't have to.

Mike's gaze shifted to the sweeping grounds of Hagglethorn Hall, and now he froze. There was a woman in a black dress and hat—the woman Davy was to be dining with, he assumed—but she was talking to a man in a three-piece suit.

"Zero…!" Mike whispered, stunned. Why was she talking to him?

He stuck his head out of the window, trying to hear their conversation.

"You're late," he heard the woman say.

"I was delayed," Mr. Zero replied. "But my endeavors were worth their time, I am happy to say. Once I find where Nesmith disappeared to, I will have everything in place to ensure my victory."

Mike quickly withdrew his head from the window, his heart racing. Had Zero tracked him here? No; he was talking as though he had no idea where the Texan was. And Mike was determined to keep it that way.

"Where is Jones?" Mr. Zero went on.

"Still inside; I was waiting for you!" the woman said.

"Veran, do you mean to tell me that you doubted your ability to seduce an eighteen-year-old boy?" Zero scoffed. "I told you, the Jones boy is no match for a pretty female face, plus I gave you that love-potion laced lipstick to ensure it! Now go in there and get me that boy; I will have him sign that contract, or I'll know the reason why!"

The woman named Veran scoffed and headed inside, and Mike backed away from the window, horrified.

_Davy… they're after Davy! But why? He's just a kid—what did he ever do to them? And what is with that contract Zero keeps bringing up?_

Anger surged through Mike's veins. He didn't care what the contract was or the reasons why; all he knew was that he couldn't let them get Davy—and he would do whatever he had to do to stop them, even if it meant revealing to Zero where he was.

Mike now slipped out of the room, trying to find a disguise; he didn't want to risk Creech or another one of the staff stopping him and questioning him about what he was doing here—there was no time for any delays! He opened up a few hallway closets, finally finding one stocked with staff uniforms—but, to his dismay, the butlers' uniforms that were available were far too small to fit him.

"Oh, come on…!" he pleaded aloud, as he frantically went through the small uniforms. Finding nothing, his eyes now fell on the remaining uniforms—the spare uniforms of the maids.

It only took him a second to make his decision; he grabbed a maid's gown and apron from the rack and closed the door to throw the dress on over his own clothes. He placed the frilly cap on and headed down the corridor. Was it humiliating? Absolutely, but saving Davy from Veran and Zero was more important to Mike than anything; a voice in his head incessantly repeated that he could not let them harm Davy, and he silently vowed that he would not let them succeed.

Downstairs, Creech regarded the papers that Veran presented to him with some amount of suspicion. He did not return them to her, instead opting to take a closer look at them.

Veran wasn't concerned; if, by some chance, Creech figured out that the papers were false, it would be too late, for she was expecting to have Davy under the influence of the love potion within five minutes, as Zero promised.

Davy was waiting in the hall for the representative from the charity association, all the while waiting for a chance to get back to Mike and ensure that he didn't go hungry. But when he turned to greet Veran as she entered the room, his jaw dropped in spite of himself.

"Miss Veran of the Hagglethorn Charity Association," Creech announced, still not convinced of her authenticity.

Veran extended her hand, expecting Davy to kiss it, but the boy, still stunned by her beautiful appearance, merely shook her hand, dumbly.

"I… I'm David Jones, Earl of Hagglethorn," he stammered. "Shall we… shall we eat?"

"Why, yes, I suppose that's one of the reasons why I'm here," Veran purred. She turned to Creech. "See to it that we are not disturbed."

"With all due respect, Madam, I take my orders from Master David," Creech said, scowling. "But as it is not proper to ruin meetings between my employer and his guests, I will ensure that there is only one person serving your food to minimize your interruptions."

"Wonderful," Veran said, as Creech led them to the dining room. She waited for Creech to leave. "…I must admit, I was quite excited when they told me that I was to have lunch with you to discuss the charity donation."

"Yeah, well, if they'd told me they'd be sending a knockout like you, I'd…" He trailed off. "I'm sorry; I'm not being at all professional."

He tried to shake his mind clear, much to Veran's frustrations.

"Oh, don't apologize," she said. "I… well, I… I must admit that I am quite smitten, too."

She now locked eyes with Davy, leaning her face in ever so slightly. Davy didn't move, still in a daze; he found his mind getting hazy as he continued to stare into her amber-red eyes.

And then something in the back of his mind became lucid: a flash of memory, much like the one he had experienced the previous day; he was in the same shabby beachhouse again, making a promise that he would never let himself lose his head over a girl… and Mike was there, telling him that he wanted to hear him say that in the form of a vow, and that he would hold him to it…

Davy suddenly drew back from Veran, both from the shock of the memory flash, as well as the recollection of the vow. Something told him that he had been quite terrible at keeping that vow, but now, more than ever, was when he had to stick to it.

"David…?" Veran asked.

"I… I don't think we can…" Davy stammered. "Er… We should just eat and discuss the whole business of the donation."

"David, what's wrong?" Veran asked, internally getting more and more frustrated. This was not as easy as Mr. Zero had promised!

Davy knew he couldn't mention the vow; his mind still hazy, he listed off the first excuse that popped into his mind, regretting it as it was halfway out of his lips:

"…Y-y-you're too old for me," he stammered, and he then winced as he realized what he had just said.

Veran's eyes blazed. She had gone into this expecting this to be effortless; not only was Davy resisting her charms, but he was insulting her, to boot!

She was ready to abandon all attempts at charm—just pull the boy close, kiss him, and have done with. But before she could make another move, the dining room doors burst open to reveal Mike in the maid's outfit, pushing in the food cart.

Davy's jaw dropped even more than when he first saw Veran.

" _Mike_?" he mouthed, as Veran looked away from Davy to see who had arrived.

"Lunch is served," Mike announced in a falsetto voice that prompted poor Davy to bite his lip shut to keep from laughing.

"Leave it on the table," Veran ordered, her eyebrows arched at what she assumed to be a rather unattractive woman.

"Maybe you didn't hear me, Missy," Mike said, glaring at her. "I said that lunch is served. And after I helped the cook slave over a hot stove to get this for you, you're going to eat it, and you're going to eat it _now_!"

He smacked the back of Veran's hand with a soup ladle.

"Sit, Girl!" he ordered. "Sit, I said!"

Veran's eyes blazed in fury at Mike, and Davy looked about ready to fall over from trying to hold back his laughter. But she and Davy did sit down in their seats; Davy was holding a handkerchief in front of his face as he shook with silent mirth, his face turning red from trying to hold back his laughter.

"Don't think that this will go unpunished," Veran hissed. "I'll be sure to tell that majordomo about your rudeness."

"Oh, me; oh my, whatever shall I do?" Mike fretted. "Oh, wait, I know—appeal to the boss! Oh, dearest Earl of Hagglethorn—for whom I have served for the better part of I don't know how long—save me!"

Davy now really did let out a snort of laughter, which he hastily tried to disguise as a cough.

The dining room doors now opened again; Creech was standing there, most displeased. Mike's eyes widened, and he looked away before the majordomo could see his face, but Creech's expression was directed at Veran.

"Master David, it regrets me to inform you that your guest is not who she claims to be; there is no Miss Veran working with the Hagglethorn Charity Association. I don't know what her intentions are, but her deception is concerning enough for me to remove her from the premises."

"Aha!" Mike squealed, brandishing the soup ladle at her. "You brazen little masher, you! Get going! Get, I said!"

Veran's face flushed; if only she had her powers, she'd have turned each and every one of them into stone statues. As it was, she could do nothing; without a word, she got to her feet, and Creech saw to it that she did indeed leave.

As soon as she had left the room, however, Davy and Mike exchanged glances for a second, and they both burst out laughing. Creech, who had been escorting Veran out, actually had to pause; the sound of Davy's laughter sounded so foreign to him.

Davy was laughing so hard, he actually had to brush tears of mirth out of his eyes.

"That was _brilliant_ ," he gasped, between laughs. "But why such an elaborate show? And why a _maid's_ outfit, of all things?"

"Because the butler suits I found didn't fit," Mike deadpanned, pulling the frilly cap off of his head. "Man, you don't know what almost happened to you—that Veran chick was sent here by Mr. Zero!"

Davy finally stopped laughing, stunned.

"What?"

"She was wearing laced lipstick—she was supposed to kiss you into some sort of submissive state, after which she'd have delivered you to him; he's out there somewhere. I saw them talking through your window."

"You mean that's why she tried to kiss me?" Davy asked. "I… I very nearly did kiss her. If it hadn't been for remembering that vow I made to you, I probably would've."

"Yeah, well, at least you remembered… What vow?"

Davy blinked. Now that Veran was gone and his head clear once again, it dawned on him that things didn't add up. How could have he made that vow to Mike if he only met him yesterday?

"I'm… not quite sure, now that I think about it…"

The conversation was halted as Creech returned. He cast a glance at Mike, who had hastily jammed the frilly maid's cap back on and was now batting his eyelashes at Creech, smiling innocently.

"I thank you for holding that deceptive woman off as long as you did, Miss…" Creech trailed off. "I don't believe I recall your name."

"Why, Creech, don't you remember hiring Mi—er… Michelle?" Davy asked, also giving an innocent smile.

"You would think I would remember hiring a maid with such fortitude," Creech said. _To say nothing of those sideburns_ …

"Well, never mind," Davy said. "Ah, Michelle, I think I wish to dine in my room again; if you could kindly take that upstairs, I would appreciate it."

"But of course," Mike said, curtseying (and forcing Davy to look away before he cracked up again).

Davy soon followed Mike out of the room, and Creech had to pause again as he heard the both of them laughing hysterically in the corridor. The majordomo's eyebrows arched. Davy had never been close to any of the staff besides Creech himself; between that fact and the maid's clearly masculine facial features, Creech was certain that "Michelle" wasn't supposed to be here anymore than Veran.

For the moment, though, Creech decided that he wouldn't do anything about it. After all, "Michelle" _had_ defended Davy against Veran. More than that, though, Creech had seen the unbridled joy on Davy's face as they had interacted; never before had Creech ever seen him that happy, not even during their brief horseback ride yesterday. And, in addition, Creech had to admit that "Michelle" had brought something to Hagglethorn Hall that the majordomo never thought he'd hear: Davy's laughter.

That was something for which Creech would be forever grateful.


	10. Who to Love and Who to Hate

Mr. Zero was more than shocked when he saw Veran furiously leaving the castle escorted and without Davy. When the coast was clear, he approached her.

"What is the meaning of this?"

Veran gave him a piercing glare.

"I was thrown out," she said, flatly. "He not only refused to kiss me, he also insulted me! Either you changed his personality when you cast the curse, or your curse did not work the way it was supposed to."

"Impossible; the curse was only meant to seal away the memories of all those it was cast upon!" Mr. Zero countered. "And there is no possible way Jones could have fought against the curse! He is an ordinary boy—he has _nothing_ against my power!"

"You forgot about the 'Power of Love' that Nesmith preached about," Veran reminded him, her voice filled with venom. "Your curse overlooked _that_ important point."

"That is of no importance," Mr. Zero insisted, waving his hand in dismissal. "They cannot love what they cannot remember."

"Are you so certain of that?" Veran asked. "How do you explain Dolenz and Tork reuniting? They cannot remember, and yet Dolenz went out of his way to help Tork escape from Dr. Mendoza!"

"Unfortunate coincidence," Mr. Zero said. "I will soon remedy that, though; the help I will receive from Morales."

"I wouldn't bank on that," Veran said. "They say the Power of Love can break any curse; it stands to reason that it can also be unaffected by curses. Wiping their memories will not wipe out their friendship—you only need to look at those two boys at the circus. If your goal is to destroy their friendship, it will fail miserably."

"That is not my goal," Mr. Zero reminded her. "My goal is to have them sign their mortal souls over to me; once I have ownership over them, I can do whatever I wish with them. I will separate them in four corners of the Netherworld, and that will make them suffer for eternity. _That_ is my goal."

"Good," Veran said. "But even that will fail if the Power of Love ends up breaking the curse you cast before you get the chance—"

Mr. Zero decided that he did not need to hear this; he snapped his fingers, and Veran vanished in a flash of fire, returning back to her eternal prison.

He would not admit it, but he was concerned that Veran had a point. Still, he knew that by the time he was finished today, it wouldn't matter.

* * *

Once the hilarity of the maid disguise had passed, Davy and Mike quickly sobered as they ate their lunch in Davy's room.

"So, let's see what we've got here," Mike said, now in his regular clothes again. "We've got this Zero guy out there looking for me so he can get me to sign some contract so he can achieve some sort of victory. And, apparently, he wants you to sign a contract, too, so he sends this Veran chick out to get you. And now you're telling me that I once told you to make a vow that you'd never lose your head over a girl… but we've never met before yesterday."

"Yeah, I'm still trying to figure that last one out," Davy said. "I know it was a memory—but how can that be when, as you said, we only met yesterday? And I'm also trying to figure out who those other two fellas were."

"What other two fellas?"

"There were two other guys there when I made that vow; they must have been the same ones I heard in my dream."

"Hold on a minute there!" Mike said. "Now we're getting more details here. You said you had a dream?"

"Yeah—night before last. I could hear three voices calling out to me. One of them was yours, actually, so it stands to reason that the other two voices were the two guys that were there with you in that memory I had…" Davy trailed off as he saw Mike frown in befuddlement. "What is it?"

"I had a dream like that the night before last, too," he said. "Everything was dark, but there were voices calling my name."

"Three voices?" Davy asked, his eyes widening.

Mike looked back at him and nodded.

"But that means that we…" the English boy began.

"…had the same dream," the Texan finished. "Except that I was hearing you, and you were hearing me."

"But what does it mean?" Davy asked. "And what about that vow you had me make? Where does that fit in? And why can't we remember?"

Mike shrugged helplessly. He wanted to remember, especially if he and Davy had met before, and it hurt to know that he couldn't remember.

"Maybe it's just wishful thinking," Davy admitted.

The younger boy now looked away, out the window of the room, and Mike felt even worse. Even though he hadn't seen it himself, he wanted to believe that what Davy had seen in that vision really had happened.

"Davy," he said, softly. "Look, I know things aren't making a lot of sense right now, but that's no reason to dismiss them. Faith is a powerful thing, especially in a case like this when things just keep getting more and more strange."

"What are you saying? You believe that you really did make me say that vow?"

"Well, until something comes along to disprove it, I guess I am willing to believe it," Mike said, sagely. "And I think it's good for you to believe it, too; I can read between the lines of what you've been telling me about how you've felt about this place—you were lonely, weren't you?"

"Of course not!" Davy bluffed. "I just wanted some freedom, that's all! I'm surrounded by people here—too many people, actually! Why would I feel lonely?"

"Well, for someone who wanted freedom, you sure didn't take it when you had the chance last night," Mike pointed out, not fooled. "But if you think you really have too many people around, well… there's no sense in having me add to the crowd. I guess I'll see you around."

"Mike…!"

The Texan had headed for the door, but paused as Davy turned from the window.

"Don't go, Mike," the boy pleaded. "You… you were right. I was lonely here; sure, there're always people here, but… I'm just a boss to them. Creech does his best, but, in the end, he still sees himself as a servant first. And I'm just the Earl to anyone else who comes through here. You're the first person who's treated me as an equal—as a friend. And now, there's a possibility that we may have met somewhere before… in another time and place, perhaps, but… I don't know what it's supposed to be, but I want it to be true."

Mike walked back to him; he had been bluffing, too, of course.

"I want it to be true, too. More than that, I believe that you found me in those woods for a reason. And now we've both had the same dream, and you've got that memory. I told you, I don't believe in coincidences."

Davy gave another nod.

"And what about those other two?" he asked. "They may be out there—in trouble, just like we were."

Mike mused for a moment.

"Well, we have to figure out a way to look for them," he deadpanned. "Unfortunately, we can't exactly put in a personal ad in the paper."

"And I can't exactly come and go as I please. I got away with it last night, but even if I could do it every night, I could only go so far," Davy sighed. "I suppose the only answer would be for you to go after all—you could find them and bring them back here."

"I don't want to leave you alone with Zero around," Mike insisted.

"But I wouldn't sign his contract!"

"I know you wouldn't. But he might figure that out and just decide to take you out of the picture altogether."

Davy gulped.

"Let's not do that, then," he said. "Maybe… maybe we should focus on just trying to remember whatever we can." He sat down in the armchair, closing his eyes.

"Davy… Davy!" Mike said, snapping his fingers until Davy opened his eyes again. "Trying to force memories won't work; you had that flash of memory without even trying. We'll remember when we have to."

"How can you be so sure of all of this?" the younger boy wondered.

"Oh, I'm not," Mike admitted. "But I'm just going by the track record here."

Davy smiled.

"So, what now?"

"We just wing it," Mike said. "And talk."

And so they talked. Davy described all of the details he could of the vision of memory he had seen, sounding apologetic that he hadn't been able to stick to that vow—to which Mike had responded that Davy had remembered and stuck to it when it counted the most.

The discussion continued to various topics as the hours ticked on. Creech had almost come by; he had been outside the door, ready to knock on it to inquire as to how Davy was doing, but had paused upon hearing the lively conversation inside. It didn't surprise him to hear that the second voice was no longer a falsetto, but a Texan baritone; what did surprise him was how Davy and this other young man talked as though they had known each other for years. Creech remembered what Davy had told him yesterday about the dream, and how he had felt he had belonged with those voices he had heard.

Was this Texan boy one of those voices? How had he come here when the castle had been so secured? And, most importantly of all, was this boy's kindness towards Davy truly genuine?

Creech withdrew from the door, deciding to let them continue with their talking for now. There would be time later to determine the Texan's true intentions. For the moment, though, he could not complain.

* * *

Mr. Zero hated to admit it, but Veran's words had troubled him. He had spent the day searching for Mike and being unable to find him, and this was most disconcerting. He knew someone would be likely to take pity on the boy and take him in, which was not what he wanted when he wanted Mike to suffer the most. The thought had not crossed his mind that Mike had been taken in by the one person whom Zero would not have wanted him to cross paths with, and that was sheer luck.

Mr. Zero also spent the afternoon and evening surveying the scene at the circus. Rage burned within him to see Micky and Peter together again, having a good time. Again, fate had smiled upon the Monkees; he had arrived after Micky's flash of memory—and Micky and Peter had prudently agreed to discuss the memory later when they didn't risk the chance of being overheard by someone who'd dismiss them as crazy.

But their talking and laughing—as though things had never changed—was aggravating enough to the Prince of Darkness.

 _Laugh all you want now_ , he silently hissed at them. _After tonight is through, you will never laugh again_.

He withdrew a handful of gold that he had taken from Hagglethorn Hall. He had been forced to give a good quantity of it to Baby Face Morales as part of convincing him to go along with his plan, but enough remained for what Mr. Zero needed.

He now teleported himself to the interior of Micky's camper and placed the gold under the haphazardly-tossed pillow on the younger boy's fold-away bed.

 _Perhaps I_ do _have a use for wealth after all_ , he mused.

In another instant, he had teleported again to the exterior of Hagglethorn Hall, where Baby Face was waiting with his gang.

"Well, it took you long enough to get here," Baby Face said. "Look, I've been casing the place—there're guards everywhere. Do you really expect me to believe that you're going to get us past them all?"

"Not all of you," Mr. Zero said. "Your compatriots can stay here; I can get you there in an instant."

He placed his hand on Baby Face's shoulder, and, in an instant later, they were now in Davy's bedroom.

Baby Face swore.

"How did you do that…?" he demanded.

"Do you doubt me now?" Mr. Zero asked.

Baby Face didn't answer; instead, he looked around the empty room.

"The Earl doesn't seem to be here," he said, drawing his gun all the same as he rooted through the wardrobe for any valuables that might have been kept there. "I thought you said that he would lead me to the vaults if I threatened him."

"Well, we wait," Mr. Zero said, folding his arms. "He'll come in here soon enough, and we'll be waiting for him."

It had been fortuitous that Mike and Davy had vacated the room just before Mr. Zero and Baby Face had arrived; Davy had decided that there was no way Mike should be forced to hide or dress as a maid, so he decided that he would formally introduce Mike to Creech and the rest of the staff.

First, though, they had to make Mike look a little bit more suitable for being the dinner guest of the Earl of Hagglethorn. None of Davy's suits would fit him, so Davy had taken Mike to one of the staff closets in the hopes that they could find something that fit that wasn't a maid's dress.

"You know, I'm willing to throw in the towel as far as this is concerned," Mike sighed, as he and Davy moved on from one closet to the next without success. "If you want to introduce me, you may as well tell him to take me as I am."

The English boy sighed. The search was starting to prove to be fruitless, and he was about ready to give up, too.

"Maybe you're right," he said.

"But I'm still trying to figure out how you're explaining my presence without revealing that you tried to run away, though…" Mike added. "Run this plan of yours by me again one more time, will you?"

"Right," Davy said. "I already told Creech about the dream yesterday, and he thought I was being foolish for believing in it. But if I tell him that providence brought the two of us together despite all of the guards around—which, technically, _is_ what happened—he'll have to reconsider what I said. And then he might even let me go with you outside the castle, and we can find the other two fellas from the dream!"

Mike nodded along as Davy explained the plan.

"Well, let's go with it," he said. "What's the worst that could happen? I get thrown out of here that's all."

"Not likely; I'm making it clear to Creech that if you go, I go. And I've still got the means to make that bedsheet ladder if I have to."

Mike gave him a smile.

"You're something else, Davy," he said. "I've got to hand it to you."

Davy just grinned, and then he snapped his fingers.

"I've got it; I'll bet you could look a whole lot more posh with just a simple necktie!" he said. "That'll help you impress Creech, and you'll still be come-as-you-are for the most part. You wait here; I'll get you one of mine—I know by now which ones strangle less than the others…"

Mike shrugged in response, and Davy headed down the corridor and back to his room—and froze in his tracks to see a man with a gun pointed right at him.

Davy let out a yelp as the intruder seized him by the shirt.

"Mike!" he cried, his voice rising in a panic. " _Mike_!"

Mr. Zero, hiding in the shadows of the room, froze as Davy called out. It couldn't be…

Outside in the corridor, Mike bolted out of his hiding place as he heard Davy cry out to him, but he wasn't the only one; Creech had emerged from his room, as well. Both Mike and Creech came face to face now, startled by each other. Mike didn't know what to do, and Creech was just stunned, but the shock quickly passed as they both reminded themselves that Davy was in trouble in his room.

"Shut up," Baby Face hissed at Davy. "And listen good—I want you to take me to the vaults where you keep that gold fortune!"

" _MIKE_!"

" _Shut up_!" Baby Face snarled, slamming him against the stone wall.

Stars exploded in front of Davy's eyes as his head hit the wall; he didn't even have time to recover from that when Baby Face grabbed his neck.

"I'm telling you one more time—and only one more time," Baby Face said. "Shut up and agree to take me to the vaults, or—"

The gangster's threat remained unfinished; Mike charged in with his fist launched in a right hook that hit Baby Face squarely in the eye. The force of the hit knocked the gangster backwards; he let go of Davy as he hit the wardrobe with the back of his head, and both Baby Face and Davy sunk to the floor, knocked out.

And Mr. Zero, still watching from the shadows of the room, was practically burning with rage.

" _Nesmith_ …" he hissed.

Creech seized the gangster's gun before Baby Face could wake up and claim it, and then turned his attention to his employer.

"Master David…!"

The majordomo trailed off as he saw Mike on his knees, gently cradling the unconscious English boy.

"Davy…?" Mike asked, softly, as he gently slapped the side of Davy's face with his fingertips. "Davy, are you okay? Come on; say something…!"

Davy winced, groaning in pain.

"Oh, me head…"

Mike breathed a sigh of relief, and managed a smile as Davy opened his eyes.

"You saved me…" the younger boy whispered.

"…I guess I did," Mike replied, as it started to sink in. "Guess I paid back my debt after all, too."

"There never was a debt," Davy insisted. "Not between friends—and not for something like this."

And it was then that Creech knew that the Texan's care and concern was genuine—that look of relief on his face… the way he had ignored everything else just to focus on helping Davy in his moment of need, and ending up beating Creech to it…

The majordomo's thoughts trailed off again as the odd man in the three-piece suit from the previous day emerged from the shadows. Mike's attention was on Davy; he hadn't noticed Zero, but Davy had—the boy paled, prompting Mike to look around to see the Prince of Darkness leering over him, rage etched upon his face.

Mike's first instinct was to hold Davy close in a protective, brotherly hug; as he did this, he stared up defiantly at Mr. Zero, as though daring him to try anything else. Davy clutched at Mike's arm, but also did his best to try to give Zero a dark look, too.

Mr. Zero suddenly let out a roar of rage that sent chills down the boys' spines; the devil's hand drew back, aiming to thrust forward to seize either one or both of them—they never knew, for Creech quickly positioned himself between Zero and the boys, aiming Baby Face's weapon at him.

"This time, I intend to see that the authorities take you away."

"Then you're in for a disappointment," Mr. Zero spat back. The weapon was useless against him, but he couldn't afford all the attention right now. The Prince of Darkness gave one last glare at Mike and Davy before snapping his fingers. He and Baby Face both vanished without a trace.

"Did you see that?" Davy exclaimed. "They disappeared into thin air! …Unless my mind was playing tricks on me after hurting my head on the wall…"

"Can't be; I saw it, too," Mike said, helping Davy to his feet. "But never mind that; are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah," Davy said, shaking off the last of the mental cobwebs.

Creech now cleared his throat, prompting the boys to look in his direction.

"Creech, I can explain…" Davy began, but Creech cut him off by raising his hand.

"Master David, you have had a most horrifying ordeal; I wish for you not to worry about anything for the moment," Creech said, and he now addressed Mike. "As for you, young man… While I have no idea how you got into the castle when it was supposed to have been secured, I suppose this current intrusion proves that there is a way inside that must be addressed. That aside, I must thank you for helping Master David twice today. That was a very… interesting performance you gave during lunch, but it did enough to stall that Veran woman before any damage was done."

Mike winced.

"You, uh… you knew that wasn't legit, huh?"

"I have long since made it a point to remember each and every member of the staff in case of an infiltrator," Creech explained. "And your sideburns gave you away regardless of that."

Mike mumbled something unintelligible as he absently felt his sideburns.

"Creech," Davy said. "I'm sorry for trying to hide him from you. His name is Mike, and… well, he was one of those voices from that dream I told you about yesterday. I just knew I couldn't lose him now that I'd found him."

Creech responded with a nod.

"I wouldn't have understood by your words alone, but based on what I saw here just now… I know it must be true, as impossible as it is." He headed for the door. "I am going to make a report to the authorities. …I know you'll be in good hands, Master David."

Creech left the room, leaving Mike and Davy to exchange glances. Well, it certainly hadn't been the way they had intended for it to go, but they had just succeeded in securing Mike's extended stay at Hagglethorn Hall.

* * *

"Pass me some of that popcorn, Peter."

"Sure. Hey, can I have some of the cotton candy?"

"Help yourself. Oh, and we've got funnel cake here, too, as well as the honey-roasted peanuts—no, Rue, that's not for you!"

Peter couldn't help but laugh as Micky tried in vain to keep the honey-roasted peanuts out of the elephant's reach—he failed, thanks in part to Rue's trunk.

"Well, scratch the honey-roasted peanuts off the list," Micky sighed, giving up. "But I guess we've got enough for dinner anyway."

"This is dinner?" Peter asked through a mouthful of cotton candy as he tossed a piece of funnel cake to the eager Emerald. "Candy, popcorn, and funnel cake?"

"Dinner of champions," Micky responded, with a grin.

Peter grinned back. In all honestly, he didn't really care what he was eating. The company of a good friend made any food palatable; and Micky was the best friend he could've ever met—whether they had met before or not. And more and more, he was willing to believe that they had.

"You know something Pete?" Micky said, as they continued to walk while they ate. "I don't know for how long I've been at this circus—it seems like forever, but today's got me wondering if that's really true. But whether it is or not… today was definitely the best day I've ever had here."

Peter smiled.

"Well, I'm glad for you," he said. "And I guess I'm glad that I could help you be so happy."

Micky looked back at Peter, that strong feeling in his heart now stronger than ever. He wished he could remember more, but… just knowing that there was this very good chance that they knew each other from before was enough—for now at least.

The boys finished their dinner and headed back towards Micky's camper after returning Rue to his enclosure. Micky was hoping that he and Peter could have a long conversation that could, just possibly, trigger some more memories of their shared past—and, perhaps, memories of those other two people he had seen in his vision.

"Hey, Micky, did you leave the lights on in your camper?" Peter asked, as they headed closer.

"No…" the younger boy said, blinking in surprise. "We haven't been back there since this morning, and I didn't have them on then."

He now frowned, and the smile had faded from Peter's face, as well; something wasn't right. But whatever it was Micky had been expecting on the other side of the camper door, a policeman certainly wasn't it. The ringmaster was there, as well; both he and the policeman glared at Micky as he entered.

"Wh-wh-what's going on in here?" Micky asked.

"Is this your camper, young man?" the policeman asked, gesturing around at the mess within.

"Well, yeah, but—"

"How do you explain this under your pillow?" the policeman continued, showing the pile of gold on the bed.

Micky's jaw dropped.

"Man, the tooth fairy must've goofed," he said, his eyes widening. "I didn't even lose a tooth!"

Peter did not like the look on the faces of the ringmaster or the policeman as they exchanged glances.

"His appearance _does_ match the description that we received from the staff of Hagglethorn Hall…" the officer mused. "In fact, it matches perfectly. But could he have done it?"

"Done what?" the boy asked, starting to go a little pale. "I was helping out with the earthquake clean-up all day…!"

"He's always been a troublemaker, Officer," the ringmaster said. "I wouldn't put it past him."

"Wouldn't put _what_ past me?" Micky asked. "I didn't do anything! I don't know anything about that gold!"

"That's enough out of you," the policeman said, curtly, as he drew out a pair of handcuffs.

Peter stared at them in horror.

"What are you doing?" he cried.

Micky's mouth fell open in silent horror as his arms were forced behind his back and the handcuffs placed over his wrists.

"You're under arrest," the officer said. "For breaking and entering, burglary, and threatening the Earl of Hagglethorn."


	11. Right From Wrong

Both Micky and Peter were frozen in utter shock; it was Micky who thawed out first as the policeman started reading him his rights.

"You have the right to remain silent—"

"But I'm innocent!"

"Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law—"

"But I didn't do it!" Micky cried.

"He's innocent!" Peter echoed. "I'll vouch for him; he was with me all day, right here at the circus!"

"And who are you?" the Ringmaster asked. "I've never even seen you before!"

"That's because I'm the free help that Micky asked me to give you; he told you about it this morning," Peter explained. "You can ask anyone at the circus, and they'll tell you we were both there all day!"

"Yeah, that's right!" Micky said. "Just ask the Masked Magician—he tried to get Pete here to be his assistant!"

"You can give your story at the station to the D.A.," the policeman said, shoving Micky along outside towards the squad car. "And we'll be calling the Earl of Hagglethorn in to see if he recognizes you; that will prove whether or not you were at Hagglethorn Hall earlier this evening."

"But I wasn't there!" Micky insisted.

Peter was right behind them, causing the policeman to look back at him.

"And what are you doing?"

"I have to go, too," he said. "I told you, I was with him; I can prove his innocence. More than that, he's my best friend!"

Micky, despite his situation, took a moment to look back at Peter in surprise; the conviction in Peter's voice was such that there was no mistaking that he meant what he had just said.

The policeman shrugged it off, but let him get into the back of the car with Micky. Emerald tried to join him, but the cop closed the door; the retriever whined, and then immediately bolted towards Rue's enclosure.

The blond boy looked to Micky as they were driven off.

"It's going to be okay," he promised. "You're innocent. They'll have to let you go once they realize that."

"But what if they don't?" Micky asked. "They said that my description matched the thief's perfectly!"

"They could've been mistaken! Wait, what am I saying? Of course they have to be mistaken!" Peter said. "Even if I hadn't been with you, I'd had known you could never have hurt anyone—and I can't be the only one who'd see that." He placed his hand on Micky's shoulder. "And no matter what happens, I won't leave you high and dry—I promise. I'm not leaving without you."

Micky gave a nod, trying to swallow the lump forming in his throat.

"Thanks, Pete."

"Hey, I know you'd do the same for me."

Micky couldn't reply due to his tightening throat, so he nodded again. Yes, he would have readily done the same.

It didn't matter what they could remember or not—Peter was right. They were best friends. Somehow, that would help them get through this, no matter what happened. And, hopefully, Peter would be right again when he said that they would soon be out of this predicament.

* * *

Davy was recovering nicely from his harrowing ordeal; Mike was seeing to that. But what Davy was most grateful for was that though Mike was clearly concerned for him, he wasn't overly fussing over him.

And that gave Davy an idea.

"You know, Mike, I've been thinking," he said. "Seeing as though you did save my life tonight, maybe you'd like to make a career out of it?"

Mike gave him a look.

"Exactly how many dangerous scenarios are you planning to get yourself into?" the Texan inquired.

"No, not like that!" Davy said, rolling his eyes. "Please; even I'm not that thick! It's just that Creech keeps going on about how there are thugs and thieves everywhere trying to get me—and I guess that intruder did prove him right. And if I know Creech, he's going to lock the place up even tighter after what happened. I can't have that—especially if we've got those two people from the dream to find."

"…So how exactly do I fit into all of this?" Mike asked.

"Well, didn't you hear what Creech said? He conceded that I was in good hands with you—he'd _never_ say something like that just for the sake of saying it. If you serve as my personal bodyguard, well… that's getting two birds with one stone, that is! You've got yourself a job, and it also means that the two of us can go out and look for those two other people from the dream!"

Mike pondered over this for a moment, and then nodded.

"Well, I'm for it," he said. "I guess the question is whether or not Creech will go for this whole idea…"

"It doesn't matter," Davy said. "It's true that Creech does most of the staff hiring, but I'm entitled to hire whomever I wish, as well."

"Then I guess it's settled," Mike said, but then he hesitated. "Look, Davy, I'm more than willing to do this, but… I don't know exactly, but it just seems really weird to take money from you."

"What do you mean? Look, I know you're not used to brushing shoulders with the higher up, but that's no need to—"

"No, that's not what I mean," the older boy said. "If it was anyone else, I wouldn't mind taking money from them, but with you… well, I don't feel as though I should be paid for looking after you. It's like… if you had a buddy you were looking out for, you wouldn't expect him to pay you for that, would you?"

Davy shook his head.

"Well, that's how I feel," Mike went on. "Going by what you said about that vow, it seems to me that I wouldn't have asked you to make a vow in the first place if I wasn't looking out for you anyway. So why do I need money to keep on doing that? Anyway, you're giving me a place to stay, three square meals a day, and—most of all—the company of a good friend. What more do I need?"

"Well, if that's all you want, you can stay as long as you wish," Davy said, smiling.

Mike was about to say something when Creech knocked on the door.

"Master David?" he asked, opening the door. "The police have just called—they believe they have apprehended the young man who was threatening you, and they would like you to come down to the station to identify him."

"Did they get Zero, too?" Mike asked.

"He means the fella in the suit that was with the intruder," Davy explained.

"They only got the young man—who is currently claiming that he is innocent," Creech said. "I expect that is why they want you to clear this up. If you are too exhausted, I will ask them if they could wait until morning—"

"It's fine, Creech; I'll go down there right away," he said. "Mike, I think you ought to come, too; you got a pretty good look at him, seeing as though you managed to get him right in the eye."

"Yeah, well, my mind wasn't exactly focusing on taking notes on his features, but I'll take a look at the station, too."

"Good; I will tell them that we will be there shortly," Creech said. "I will have the car ready for you in five minutes."

He left, and Davy turned back to Mike.

"Once we get this all cleared up, we can focus on the important things," he said, ready for this to be over and done with.

Mike nodded in agreement, though something in the back of his mind told him that it wasn't going to be that simple.

* * *

The District Attorney had not been too pleased to be called from his office, where he had been hard at work on the Mendoza case—at least, not until he arrived at the police station and saw Peter there, looking nervously through the two-way mirror into the interrogation room where Micky sat, trembling. They would not allow Peter inside, so he had promised to wait there, silently watching his friend through the glass.

"…You live at Rosebud Lane, don't you?" the D.A. asked.

"…I used to," Peter said, truthfully. "Micky got me out of there—he's innocent, Sir. You've got to believe me…" He swallowed hard. "If anything, I should be the one in trouble for not reporting the horrible things Dr. Mendoza was doing. But I just couldn't find a way… And when he wanted me to get some new guinea pigs for him, I just couldn't do it. And when I was ready to offer myself as a guinea pig, Micky saved me. Micky doesn't have a mean bone in his body; and besides that, he was with me all day. You can't lock him up for something he didn't even do!"

The D.A. raised a hand to keep Peter quiet.

"I need to question him now about the Hagglethorn Hall break-in, and then we'll have the Earl coming in to make an identification; we'll see where things go after that. But I'll want to discuss Dr. Mendoza with you later."

"…Am I in trouble?" Peter asked, wondering if he was going to be locked up along with Micky.

"From what I've been gathering about the Mendoza case, you were a prisoner there yourself," he replied. "But you are a very important witness; your cooperation will be vital. But, first things first…"

He proceeded to the interrogation room.

"Mr. Dolenz?" he asked. "I'm—"

"The District Attorney; I know…" the boy said, still trembling. "Are… are you going to give me the third degree or something?"

"I'm just going to ask you a few questions, and then we'll have the Earl of Hagglethorn in to see if he can identify you as the intruder," the D.A. replied, switching on a recorder. "Now, then; where were you at approximately 7:00 PM earlier tonight?"

"I was at the circus where I work, with my friend Peter. We were eating popcorn, cotton candy, funnel cake, and honey-roasted peanuts. …Wait, no; we never got to eat the peanuts—my elephant stole them…"

The D.A. massaged the bridge of his nose.

"Let's move on," he said. "At 7:00, it was reported that a young man—whose description matched yours perfectly, I might add—had broken into the Earl of Hagglethorn's bedroom and threatened him with a gun, demanding to be taken to the vaults where the Hall's gold was stored. Gold coins with the Hagglethorn crest were found in your camper. How do you explain that?"

"Someone must be trying to frame me!" Micky exclaimed. "I've never been to Hagglethorn Hall! And I don't even have a gun!"

The D. A. mused over this. No gun had been found in the boy's camper, though every inch of it had been searched, and the boy hadn't had a weapon of any kind on his person. But that still didn't explain the gold in his camper, nor the flawless description.

"How do you account for the incriminating evidence in your camper?"

"I don't know," Micky said, honestly. "Someone's trying to get me into trouble—and by the looks of things, they're doing a heck of a job…"

"Do you have any idea who would be doing such a thing to you—or why?" the D.A. asked.

"No, Sir," Micky said. He blinked. "Unless… No, it's too crazy…"

"Please, go on."

"Well, last night… I rescued my friend out there from a mad quack who wanted to experiment on him. I thought we got away unseen, but… maybe he had security cameras or something and figured out where I was going… and he created some sort of evil double of me to get me into trouble…"

"That's a little farfetched," the D.A. said, his eyebrows arched.

"I know, but it's the only thing I can think of that makes any semblance of sense," Micky sighed. He winced as he realized just how badly that sounded. "Look, I don't know how the gold got there, but… please… you can talk to the other animal tamers, the concessions vendors, and the Masked Magician—they'll all tell you I was at the circus all day today. I'm innocent—honest!"

This line of questioning continued for some more time; Peter watched as Micky continued to insist upon his innocence as he was questioned, silently hoping and praying that they would question all of the others at the circus and release Micky after hearing their testimonies.

It was towards the end of Micky's interrogation that three more people arrived to watch through the two-way mirror. Peter gave them a sideways glance, his mind registering the presence of a tall, gaunt-faced man in a butler's outfit, a tall boy with a green wool hat, and a much shorter boy.

Peter looked back at Micky through the mirror, but then froze. Slowly, he turned his head back to the new arrivals, his mouth hanging open as he looked from the boy in the hat to the shorter boy, recalling Micky's words from earlier about the vision he had seen:

" _There were two other guys—there was a tall guy with a hat trying to stall that creep, and then there was a little guy trying to help me snap you out of it_ …"

More than Micky's words was the feeling in Peter's heart; it was the same, persistent feeling that he had felt when he had crashed into Micky at the beach the previous day—that he knew these two people, even though it seemed that he had never seen them before.

And though they weren't looking at Peter, something was coming over those two as they looked at Micky through the glass.

"Mike…" the shorter one whispered to the boy in the hat. "Mike, are you… are thinking what I'm thinking?"

"I don't know, Davy," the boy in the hat replied, also quietly.

"What are you thinking?" Peter asked, concerned. "Is one of you the Earl of Hagglethorn? Look, my friend in there is innocent! He wouldn't even think of trying to rob you or anyone else!"

"I'm the Earl of Hagglethorn," Davy said, turning to face Peter. "And I just…"

The English boy trailed off as he took a look into Peter's face. Suddenly, he put a hand to his head.

"Davy…?" Mike asked, placing his hand on his shoulders.

"Master David?" Creech exclaimed.

"I… I think…" Davy murmured, shutting his eyes as a flash of memory came to him again—a different one, this time: he was in that shabby beachhouse once again, getting ready to depart on a long journey that he did not want to go on, and this boy—this older blond boy—stepped forward to give him a parachute… and Davy, apparently at a loss for words, had just hugged him in response…

Davy gasped, snapping back to the present as he looked at Peter. The feeling… the memory… dare he believe that he had just found the owner of one of the two remaining voices he had been just talking about searching for?

Peter was staring back at him, not sure what to say; if he hadn't been so concerned for Micky's fate, he would've given some thought to the fact that Davy's reaction just now had been almost identical to Micky's when he had received his flash of memory earlier that day.

Davy now looked to Mike, who was now looking from Peter to Micky behind the glass with the same expression. He gripped Davy's shoulder even more tightly.

The D.A. now exited the interrogation room, introducing himself to Davy and indicating Micky behind the glass, whom he had instructed to face forward. Micky, unable to see anything outside, just sat there, continuing to tremble; all he knew was that the Earl of Hagglethorn was out there, behind the mirror, ready to seal his fate with just a word out of his mouth.

"Now, then, Mr. Jones…" the D. A. said. "I'd like you to take a good look through there and tell me if that is the man who broke into your home and threatened you."

Davy looked back through the glass at Micky. Well, it was a no-brainer, wasn't it? He looked exactly like the intruder, though much more scared… and yet… Davy was feeling the same feeling that he had first felt upon seeing Mike, and now this blond boy. Could it be that he was the final voice from his dream?

Davy was silent for a long time, and gave a start as the D.A. finally addressed him again.

"Well, Mr. Jones?"

Davy took one more look back through the glass at the other boy. His head and heart were saying two very different things about whether or not this was the intruder; however, his heart had been right about Mike… so…

"No," Davy said, calmly and confidently. "He's not the intruder."

Peter's expression lit up in sheer joy.

"See?" he exclaimed to the D.A. "See, I told you! I told you he was innocent! Hey, Micky! Micky!" He pounded on the glass to get his friend's attention. "Micky, he just cleared you!"

Micky, barely able to hear Peter through the glass, looked up, hardly daring to believe it.

"Are you absolutely certain, Mr. Jones?" the D.A. said.

"Yes, do look closely," Creech said. "He _does_ look like the intruder…"

"I know he looks like him," Davy said. "The intruder is someone who looks _very_ much like him. But it's not this fella here."

"Yeah, it can't be," Mike agreed. "I decked that intruder right in the eye—he'd have a bruise for days after that. There's not a mark on this guy's face."

"Turn him loose!" Peter exclaimed, practically jumping in joy. "You've got no reason to lock him up anymore!"

The D.A. nodded to one of the nearby officers, who went and unlocked the interrogation room, motioning for Micky to come out.

"Is it true?" the boy asked the D.A., as soon as he was back in the room where everyone else was, where he was all but glomped by Peter (Mike and Davy just watched, both unexplainably content and happy). "I can go?"

"The Earl has stated that you were not the intruder, so, yes, we cannot keep you here. The investigation will still be going on, though, and you'll probably have to answer some more questions, so don't make any plans to leave town."

"Oh," Micky said. "Well, that's okay. The circus isn't due to leave town for a while, so I guess it won't matter."

"Of course it won't matter," the ringmaster growled. The four all jumped, startled to see him. "You're not coming back."

"Wh-What do you mean?" Micky asked, his eyes widening in shock and horror again. "I'm innocent! You just heard the Earl say that it wasn't me—just some guy who looked like me!"

"That's just it!" the ringmaster said. "I don't need any criminals _or_ criminal lookalikes working in my circus!"

"Now wait just a minute!" Davy said, not sure why he felt so compelled to defend Micky. "I don't want you holding anything against him; I just said that it wasn't him—if you want me to make it official and state it under oath, I gladly will! But don't punish him just because he looks like that creep—whoever he was! He didn't ask to have the same face as him!"

"Master David, don't get yourself involved!" Creech pleaded, quietly. "I do believe it is time for us to leave…"

"You listen to him and stay outta this, Duke of Earl, or whoever you are!" the ringmaster snapped at Davy.

"That's Earl of Hagglethorn—"

"Whatever!" he retorted, and then turned his attention back to Micky. "And as for you, I had you pegged as trouble right from the start. Well, I don't want to deal with you anymore, especially if you're going to be having cops questioning you every hour of the day! You're fired—you and your free-help friend!"

Micky could only stare in speechless horror once again. Despite having done nothing wrong, he had been arrested. And now he had lost his job and his home, as well.


	12. We Had Never Lived With Doubt

Peter now gripped Micky's shoulders, trying to provide what little comfort he could for him—which wasn't much, seeing as though he had been thrown out into the streets along with Micky.

Micky couldn't say a thing—not that he had a chance to; the ringmaster wasn't done berating him.

"…A no-talent little brat who's only good for looking after an elephant—that's what you are!" he ranted. "You've been nothing but a lead weight to my circus! Well, now you're going to be sinking alone!"

"Not alone," Peter said, fiercely. "I'll stick by him!"

"Well, you're the perfect companion for him, then—empty-headed and just as useless!"

That did it; _that_ snapped Micky out of his horrified silence.

"You can insult me all you want, but you leave Peter alone!" he snapped back, angrily.

"I'll be leaving the both of you alone," the ringmaster promised. "I've been wanting to wash my hands of you for a long time now!"

He dragged a half-opened steamer trunk from the side of the room and unceremoniously threw it at his feet; all of Micky's worldly possessions—not much, of course—had been carelessly stuffed inside and now spilled all over the floor.

Micky cringed, but stood firm as he and Peter both glared back at the ringmaster.

"You know what, Micky?" the blond said. "I think you're better off not working for that creep."

"I think you're right," Micky agreed. Idly, he wondered why so many people seemed to dismiss Peter as empty-headed. When it counted, Peter knew exactly the right thing to say, and, within the last several hours, it had counted a lot.

Davy and Mike stood to the side with Creech, silently watching the unfolding spectacle. Davy had just been feeling so sorry for Micky when he took notice of how one of the shirts that had spilled on the floor had the cuff of one of the sleeves missing.

The English boy's eyes widened, recalling how he had woken up the morning before last (had it really only been such a short time ago?) with a detached sleeve cuff in his hand. But how had he ended up with Micky's sleeve cuff?

He bit his lip as he mulled this over in his mind.

_Was I wrong? Was he really the intruder, and we had been in a struggle the night before—and he had returned tonight to finish the job?_

But Davy's heart responded against his mind with a resounding _No_. There had to be a reason why he had Micky's sleeve cuff, but no matter what it was, Micky was innocent. And now he—and Peter—needed help.

And Davy was the one who could give it to them.

He sighed, stepping forward as the ringmaster continued to have a silent glaring match with Micky and Peter. The ringmaster sneered at Davy and backed off, leaving, and Micky and Peter now turned their attention to the English boy and the Texan, who had followed behind Davy.

"Look…" Davy said. "I'm really sorry about this. I know you're innocent; if I'd known that you were going to lose your job, I wouldn't have… Well…"

Micky managed a smile, but it was, in reality, forced; there was too much on his mind to give a genuine smile.

"Hey, it's okay. Whoever that creep was who stole my face and your gold and threatened you, you had every right to try to bring him to justice. I just got caught up in it, unfortunately."

"Well, all the same, I feel that I'm responsible for the two of you being out of a job," Davy said.

"Oh, don't feel that way!" Peter said. "It's like you said; you couldn't have known that nasty guy was going to fire us. I'll bet he would've done it sooner if he'd only had an excuse to do it."

"You're right about that…" Micky said. "He's been giving me the evil eye for as long as I can remember—browbeating me and trying to get me to quit that way, or just waiting for me to mess up…"

"But you two both need a job now—and a place to stay, don't you?" Davy asked.

Micky and Peter exchanged glances, shrugging. They had no idea where to go, and they only had enough money to keep them fed for a couple days at the most. They did have to come up with a solution, and fast, but still…

Davy could somehow read their glances. He now looked up to Mike, who gave him an encouraging nod.

"I want to hire you two," Davy said, turning back to Micky and Peter. "You can stay in Hagglethorn Hall and work for me as part of my staff—Mike signed on earlier, though he didn't want any money; I'm sure you could back him up just great! Or we could find something else for you to do. Either way, you can stay at the Hall as long as you have to."

Creech barely refrained from facepalming. He was willing to go along with Davy inviting Mike to stay—he had, after all, saved him more than once. But now he was taking in these two strange boys just like that—when one had been accused of being the intruder and still looked like a dead ringer for him?

"Master David, are you certain that is a good idea…?"

"Of course I'm certain; I wouldn't have suggested it if I wasn't serious. So… what do you say?"

Micky's mouth had fallen again; this time, his heart was practically soaring.

"I… er… Well, that's awfully nice of you and all, but we… we can't just…"

"We couldn't impose like that," Peter finished for him.

Davy placed a hand on each of their shoulders

"You wouldn't be imposing," he assured them. "Please, come back with us. I insist." _Please. I know you two are the other voices from my dream. I know you two from somewhere, just like I know Mike_.

It wasn't until Davy's bright eyes betrayed the silent plea he had just mentally uttered that Micky and Peter realized that there was more to this than just Davy's pity or sympathy talking.

They looked to Mike, who, despite his deadpan, seemed to be thinking along the same lines as Davy, and then looked back to each other.

"Okay," Micky said. "We'll go back and work for you."

"But we don't want any money," Peter added, and Micky nodded in agreement. "Is that okay?"

Davy blinked in surprise at Peter's words, but then realized that if he had been sensing the same feeling of familiarity from them as he had from Mike, it made sense that they couldn't bring themselves to take money from him anymore than Mike could.

He smiled, and nodded.

"Yeah, that's fine," he said.

It was more than fine; it was… the way it was supposed to be, he thought.

Creech just sighed, knowing that there was no point in trying to argue with Davy; he was now driven by a purpose to find the people from his dream—and it seemed as though he was convinced he had found them all.

"Well, I'm glad we've settled that," Peter said. He then snapped his fingers. "Oh, wait, there's one more thing!" He turned to the District Attorney. "You wanted to ask me some questions about Dr. Mendoza?"

The DA checked his watch; sighing. It was getting to be quite late.

"We can reschedule your statement for another time," he said. "I think the best thing for all of you is to get a good night's rest—"

He was cut off as a commotion came from outside; he, Creech, and the Monkees quickly headed that way and were surprised to see the ringmaster being stared down by an elephant—with a golden retriever riding on the elephant's back, growling.

"Down, you beast!" the ringmaster hissed. "Get back!"

"Rue!" Micky exclaimed.

"Emerald!" Peter added.

The elephant turned from the ringmaster and walked towards them, gently wrapping his trunk around Micky again. Emerald leaped from his back, greeting Peter.

"That psychotic pachyderm nearly gored me!" the ringmaster spat. "You would think he tracked me down just to…" He trailed off, seeing the elephant act so kindly towards Micky, and his lip curled into a scowl.

"He wouldn't have hurt you," Micky said. "His tusks aren't even long enough to do any damage!"

"He listens to you," the ringmaster snarled. "Tell him to behave himself and get back to his pen."

"Ah, sorry; I don't work for you anymore, remember?" Micky countered, smirking.

"Well, if you think I'm letting you walk off with a free elephant—"

"So, you'll get paid for the elephant," Davy said, pulling his checkbook from his pocket. "How much would you say he's worth?"

"I couldn't let you do that!" Micky gasped, his eyes widening as Creech sighed in exasperation.

"There's no point in him keeping the elephant," Davy said, jerking his head towards the ringmaster. "Besides that, I don't think the poor thing could stand being separated from you." He turned to the ringmaster. "Name your price."

The ringmaster was reluctant to let Rue go—especially to Micky, of all people. But he conceded that it would be too much bother to try to corral an elephant that was already adept at breaking out and would only grow larger. Grudgingly, he settled on an amount of money, which Davy paid, and the ringmaster left soon after, deciding that it would be worth it if he didn't have to deal with Micky anymore. The DA just shook his head, heading back inside to ponder over the sight he had just seen.

"Well, glad that's over," Micky said, petting Rue on the trunk. "Man, I almost didn't realize that I might never have seen Rue again…"

"Funny how he and Emerald both found us," Peter commented.

"Eh, animals are smarter than we give them credit for…" Mike began, but then trailed off as he exchanged a glance with Davy.

" _Emerald_?" they both asked, in unison.

"He thought it sounded cute," Micky explained, and Peter nodded, grinning.

The others shrugged it off.

"Well, we ought to be getting back to Hagglethorn Hall," Davy said. "It'll be a bit of a walk."

"I can attest to that," Mike said.

"I can have the elephant brought to the castle by our movers," Creech said, throwing in the towel now. "You should go back in the car—all of you; I will go back after the elephant is moved."

"Oh, Gosharooney—thanks a lot!" Micky said shaking Creech's hand. "Rue, you be good, and I'll see you in the morning, okay?"

The elephant let out a quiet trumpet, and knelt down to allow Emerald onto his back again.

"You want to wait with Rue?" Peter asked.

The dog "rruffed" in response, and Peter nodded.

"Then I'll see you in the morning, too."

"Wonder how they'll get along with your horse and my Texas prairie chicken," Mike mused, as they all helped Micky gather his things before cramming themselves into the backseat of Davy's private vehicle. The chauffer cast them a bemused glance, but said nothing as Creech gave him a weary nod of assent.

Nobody noticed the figure in the shadows, glaring at the four Monkees as they sat, chatting.

 _How could this have happened?_ Zero privately fumed. _How, after everything I've done to tear them apart, they've somehow managed to get back together and carry on as though nothing had even changed in the slightest! They don't even have their memories! How is this happening!_

To the side, Baby Face Morales watched him, wincing as he felt the spot around his sore eye.

"Look, you can stand there and fume all you like," the gangster muttered. "I'm out of here."

"And where do you think you're going?" Mr. Zero demanded. "We had an agreement!"

"Which you didn't keep!" Baby Face reminded him. "You told me I'd be able to threaten the Earl of Hagglethorn into giving me the gold. Well, all I got was a black eye from his wool-hat-wearing bodyguard!"

"Look, I will give you all the wealth and riches you desire; all I ask is that you do one more thing for me—I want you to go down to the circus and attack that ringmaster, making sure someone sees you."

Baby Face scowled.

"I see what this is about. This ain't about the Earl; this is about framing that kid there who looks like me, isn't it? Well, you're out of luck; I'm not playing this game anymore. There's nothing in it for me, and besides…" His voice now filled with venom. "I'm no hired gun."

He turned on his heel.

"We're done here," he added, as he walked away.

 _No, we're not_ , Mr. Zero silently retorted. _I'll deal with you later—I can promise you that. But now I've got more important things to take care of_.

* * *

Mr. Zero made himself invisible as he kept an eye on the Monkees. His rage only grew as they chatted and laughed about the most random things that came to them, the gaps in their laughter filled with Micky and Peter once again thanking Davy, who assured them it was nothing. And as awkward as it seemed, Davy found himself thanking _them_ , though he wasn't sure why.

Mike, though he did participate in the conversation, spent a bit of time mulling things over in his head. Having had the same dream as Davy, he knew that the voices in the dream were, indeed, the same as the three talking now. And then there was that inescapable feeling—that they were not strangers, no matter how illogical that sounded.

If they had known each other before, then something had happened to cause them to forget each other—something terrible, no doubt. And whatever it was might be likely to happen again.

The Texan suppressed an involuntary shudder at that latter thought, which did not go unnoticed.

"You okay, Mike?" Davy asked, as Micky and Peter looked on in concern.

"Sure, I'm okay," he replied, managing a smile. "Just got a bit of a chill, that's all…" He didn't want them to worry; he had to take the brunt of this—or, at least, it felt that way; along with that feeling of familiarity was an unshakable feeling of responsibility.

 _I've got to look out for these guys_ , he mentally instructed himself. _Something's out there, and I can't let it get them_.

He now pushed this thought to his mental back-burner; it was time to enjoy each other's company now. He could put aside his concerns for later, when he was alone.

That decided, he put a smile back on his face and rejoined the conversation, which had now moved onto watching Micky do impressions of various Hollywood stars and movie scenes—and watching Micky's face light up in utter glee as he realized that he really _was_ entertaining.

It was quite late by the time they reached Hagglethorn Hall; as much as they wanted to stay up and talk more, they just didn't have the energy. Davy showed the other three to the best guest rooms before retiring to his own room. Within minutes, they were fast asleep, and Mr. Zero furiously paced the corridor outside their rooms, trying to determine what to do with this latest twist.

Perhaps he had to concede that Veran's warning about the Power of Love had been right. He hadn't been able to extinguish the care and concern for each other that they harbored in their hearts.

Well, then… he would just have to do his best to extinguish it! He would plant a few seeds of doubt in their hearts and watch them grow—and watch those doubts turn them against each other.

The Prince of Darkness now snapped his fingers, and a dense, black fog issued from his fingertips. The fog crawled across the floor, seeping under the doors of the four rooms where each of the Monkees slept.

Dreams were what had started their seeking each other out. Perhaps by manipulating their dreams now, Mr. Zero could get them to see that being together was, in reality, causing them to give up their deepest wishes. And this dream fog would help him to do that.

And if that didn't work to force them apart, well… there was more than one way to bend someone's will.


	13. Get Out of Your Dream World

Davy's dreams took him to a vast field where the tall grass swayed all around him in the summer breeze. The young Englishman gave a contented sigh as the breeze caressed his face and hair, and he closed his eyes, taking in the scent of the grass. It was the same feeling he had felt when he had gone on that brief ride with Saph the previous day—that wonderful feeling of freedom itself being tangible.

He was far away from Hagglethorn Hall—far away from any pressures and obstacles that would keep him from where he wanted to go.

He took another look at his surroundings now, trying to determine where it was he wanted to go. Behind him, the grassy field gave way to a beautiful shoreline. Ahead of him, the field disappeared into a thick forest—not unlike the one he would have to traverse through to get to Hagglethorn Hall.

It was a no-brainer; Davy turned and walked towards the beach. He had almost reached it when, suddenly, he saw that the path ahead had been blocked; someone was standing in his way.

Davy shielded his eyes from the sun to see who it was, and he blinked in surprise. It was Mike.

"You made it here, too, huh?" he asked the Texan, grinning.

But Mike did not reply; the Texan stared back at Davy, silently, before pointing towards the forest.

"You want to go there…?" Davy asked, his smile fading. "Look, we could stay here for a little bit, couldn't we?"

But Mike shook his head, still pointing towards the forest.

"Well, maybe you can go on ahead and I'll join you in a bit," Davy offered. "I don't want to go back just yet."

He moved to walk past Mike, but the older boy moved to block his way. Davy now frowned.

"What's going on?" he asked. He stared back at the Texan as he continued to stare, unblinkingly. "Can you at least tell me what's gotten into you?"

But Mike didn't say a word, and now Davy was quickly sensing that something was not right. He backed away from the Texan, and now made a break to the right—and nearly ran smack into Micky.

"Micky!" Davy exclaimed. "Micky, something's happened to Mike; it's like he's in some kind of… trance…" He trailed off as Micky had the same expressionless face that Mike had, and then he started pointing towards the forest, too.

Davy now tried to bolt to the left—but then Peter appeared from that side, his face also blank.

"Not you, too, Peter!" Davy cried.

What was going on here? What had gotten into them? These weren't the same people he'd been laughing in the car with just hours ago! And why were they so insistent upon his going to the forest?

"Okay," he said, looking at the three of them. "Okay, you win. I'll go to the bloomin' forest!"

He sighed, heading that way, taking note that the three of them were silently following him, as though herding him that way. And, still, they didn't make a sound. The young Englishman found it very unsettling, but went along with them.

It was as they approached the edge of the forest that Davy stopped in his tracks. A thick, black fog seemed to be filling the gaps between the trees.

"Don't you guys see that? I don't think we should be going in there!"

But the other three continued to point in that direction, still trying to herd him into the forest.

"Enough is enough!" Davy exclaimed, now pulling away from them. "One of you better tell me what's going on here!"

He pushed past them, now backing away as they turned to face him, also backing away into the forest.

 _You don't understand, do you, David?_ an eerily familiar voice spoke through the fog. _You're going to have to make a choice—your freedom, or your friends. The only time you can ever do whatever it is you wish is when you are on your own. Go to the beach—go wherever in the world you please! The sky is your limit, as long as you are on your own_.

"I have to… choose…?" Davy repeated, as the fog grew thicker, beginning to obscure Mike, Micky, and Peter from his view.

 _Your freedom is the most important thing for you, is it not? Can you truly give it up, knowing that being with your friends means forever going along with their ideas and orders—compromise is out of the question; you're outnumbered_.

"I… But they…"

 _Turn around. Go to the beach, just like you wanted. Go wherever you want, and be free—be free of them_.

The fog was now too thick for Davy to see the others; he did back away from the forest a bit more now.

 _Yes, that's right_ , the voice encouraged. _Your heart was meant to be free—not to be dragged down by the wills of three others_.

Davy, still backing away, tripped over a rock. As he landed on the grassy ground, he recalled what he had told Mike earlier that day, when he had first spoken to him upon his waking up.

"… _I ended up finding something that I valued even more than freedom_ …"

The English boy gasped. What… what was he doing? Something terrible had happened to Mike, Micky, and Peter—they were under some sort of spell—and he had been so ready to abandon them in the name of freedom?

"Mike!" he called, getting up and running towards the foggy forest. "Micky! Peter!"

 _What are you doing, Boy?_ the voice hissed.

"I can't leave them!" Davy cried, now in the middle of the fog, unable to see a thing. "They're my friends!"

He held his arms out, trying not to crash into trees as searched for them. But they seemed to have disappeared.

And now he understood—they must've wanted him to help them; that was why they had been so insistent on him coming here. Unable to talk, they had to bring him here; it must have had something to do with this odd black fog.

"Fellas, I'm here!" he cried. "I didn't abandon you! I'm here, just like you wanted! I'll help you—I swear!"

He took a few more steps forward, and his fingertips came into contact with a person. Slowly, he pulled the person towards him, and, through the thick fog, was finally able to discern Micky's features as he drew the brunet closer.

"Micky!" he exclaimed. "Micky, it's me! How can I help you? I know you brought me here for a reason!"

But Micky did not respond; the glazed look in his eyes only seemed to increase, as though he was slipping further away from Davy.

"Micky… no…" the English boy quietly pleaded.

Micky now sunk to the ground, and as Davy knelt down, still trying to get through to him, he now realized that Peter was sprawled out on ground next to them, as well, staring blankly at the sky.

"Peter!" Davy exclaimed, now gently shaking his shoulder but also receiving no response from him.

A sudden chill ran down Davy's spine as he realized that Mike was likely to be in the same declining state—if not worse.

"Mike?" he cried, panic rising in his voice now. " _Mike_?"

There were footsteps behind him, and Davy could just make out the shape of the wool hat on Mike's head through the fog. Somehow, he was still on his feet, but the blank expression on his face was even more unsettling than it had been on Micky or Peter.

"Mike… Mike, I need help!" he pleaded to the Texan.

Normally, Davy would've balked at the thought of asking for help—forget _begging_ for it. But he knew he was losing his friends after finally finding them. And the thought of that was just too unbearable.

"Mike, please…"

The English boy found himself unable to look at the Texan's blank face any longer; the hurt and the hopelessness were just too much.

Why was this happening? Why was it the more he wanted to be with these people he felt he knew so well, something was trying to ruin it? First the plant, then Veran, then that intruder, then the ringmaster, and now this…!

"What did we do?" he asked, quietly, as he began to despair. "What on Earth did we do to deserve this?"

He didn't receive any answer.

* * *

If Davy had been able to see what Micky was thinking, he would've seen that Micky was in another world altogether, for the Californian's dreams had thrust him into the center of a stage, cracking jokes to a seemingly endless crowd—a crowd that laughed at his every joke and applauded at his every imitation and impression.

"Ah, Man, this is the life," he grinned, after finishing his encore and heading back to his dressing room, pausing to admire his tuxedo in the mirror.

 _Isn't it, though?_ a voice asked him.

Micky froze in his tracks.

"Hello…?" he asked, looking around for the source of the voice. It sounded familiar—too familiar.

 _The glory is finally yours—you don't have to share it with anyone. The spotlight shines on you and you alone_.

"Yeah, but… I guess it _would_ be nice to have someone to share it all with…" he said. "I mean, Mike and Davy and…" He trailed off as he glanced out his dressing room window, seeing a familiar blond walking outside towards an odd-looking fog bank. "…Peter!" He opened the window, joyful. "Hey, Pete!"

But Micky was soon struck dumb as Peter looked back to him with a blank expression for a moment, and then continued into the fog bank.

"Pete, where're you going?" Micky cried.

He moved to the door of the dressing room, but then changed his mind halfway as he realized that would be the longer way around; he squeezed through the window and took off after Peter.

He suddenly gave a yelp as he realized that, somehow, his expensive tuxedo had been replaced by a rather shabby eight-button shirt.

"Wha…? How did…? I didn't…!"

 _Chasing after others means leaving behind your stardom_ , the voice said, plainly. _Go on; leave it behind you and chase after those alleged "friends" of yours. But then you'll have more than that ringmaster accusing you of being a no-talent, little brat_.

Micky bit his lip.

"But… Peter's out there… I can't just…"

_They will drag you down. They will prevent you from obtaining the adoration you so rightly deserve. Is_ _ this _ _what you want to walk away from, Micky?_

Micky could hear the crowd still applauding and chanting his name from inside, wanting him to come onstage for another encore.

For a moment, Micky indulged in those voices that were cheering and calling for him—and only him, as the voice had said.

He had talent! He had more talent than that entire circus put together! And this would be his chance to show them all!

As Micky listened, he became aware of one voice distinct from the others; this voice wasn't cheering for him—this voice, a British accent, was calling out frantically for him, as though something terrible had just happened.

"…Davy…?" he asked, turning towards the fog again. Peter was out of sight, but Micky could still hear Davy's voice coming from that direction.

Micky cast one last look behind him at the theatre. Not having to share the spotlight was one thing, but his heart was telling him that there were more important things than personal glory.

"Davy?" he called. "Peter? Hey, where'd you guys go?"

Micky was suddenly teleported as he entered the dense fog bank. He yelped, suddenly crashing to his knees in the middle of a forest, which were also covered in fog—and there, next to him, was Davy, also kneeling.

"Davy?"

Davy's head turned sharply to face him, and his devastated expression managed to brighten.

"You snapped out of it!" the English boy exclaimed, suddenly hugging Micky.

Micky blinked in surprise, but hugged him back.

"Well, I'm not sure what this is about, but thanks for your concern…" he said to Davy, looking around. "Hey, where'd the theatre go?"

"Theatre?" Davy asked, releasing him from the hug. "Micky, you've been in some sort of trance, and you were getting worse and worse… But maybe since you got out of it, there might be a chance for Mike and Peter, too…"

Micky's eyes widened.

"What's happened to Mike and Peter?"

"Mike's just standing there, not saying or doing anything," the younger boy said, feeling terrible once again as he forced himself to look into the Texan's blank face.

Micky found it difficult to look at Mike's emotionless expression, as well.

"And what about Pete?" he asked Davy, quietly.

Davy looked to his side, where Peter was lying; Davy still had a hand on his shoulder, still trying to wake him. And Peter was still staring blankly at the sky, his eyes unfocused.

A horrified cry issued from Micky's throat as he saw Peter's condition—it was almost the same exact condition he had been afflicted with in that startling flash of memory Micky had earlier that day.

"Peter!" he cried, trying to support him to sit up.

Peter did not respond to this; he stared blankly ahead, completely unresponsive.

"Not again…" Micky whispered, despairing. "Not _again_!"

"Again?" Davy repeated. "This has happened before?"

"I'm certain of it," the brunet replied. "…You were there, too—helping me try to snap him out of it."

"I was?" Davy asked. That made no sense, and yet… those flashes of memories he had been having… could it be true?

Micky gave a nod and turned his attention back to Peter.

"Come on, Pete!" he pleaded, shaking his shoulders. "Whatever it was that happened to you last time, you got out of it. I know you can get out of this, too! Please, Peter…" He blinked back a few tears. "You were right—back there, what you said to the cop about us being best friends. I felt it, too; I didn't know how that could possibly make any sense, so I didn't say anything. But it doesn't matter what makes sense anymore—all that matters is you getting better!"

Davy looked to them, and then turned back to Mike. Perhaps talking to him would be what it would take to get him out of it, too…

…he hoped.

* * *

Peter could feel his face getting redder and redder as he ran. Every time he turned around, that flock of girls—about ten of them—seemed to be closing in.

"Peter, why are you running away?" one called, giggling as she followed him.

"I, uh… well… you keep chasing me!" he stammered, yet managing a smile as he pondered over the mystery of how they were able to run so quickly despite wearing high-heeled shoes.

"Because you keep running away!" a second called.

Peter responded with a helpless shrug—and then kept on running.

It's not that he _minded_ being chased; it's just that he was never quite sure what to say to them whenever they were standing still. Shyness had just given way to flight.

"Oh, please don't run away, Peter!" another one of the girls pleaded. "We just want to talk to you!"

"That's right!" a fourth one called out. "You're so cute and talented and good-looking… and smart, too!"

Peter really did screech to a halt at that.

"Smart? Me?" he asked, his eyebrows arched in surprise. That seemed to be the one thing that everyone out there _didn't_ call him.

"Of course you're smart, Peter," a fifth girl said, as the ten of them now surrounded him, grinning and giggling.

"You always know the right thing to say…"

"And you're sincere…"

Peter's face got even redder as they spoke, but he was certainly enjoying the praise. But as the girls gabbed on about how great he was, Peter could hear another voice—this one in his head—whispering in his mind.

 _It's nice, isn't it, Peter? It's nice to be appreciated by others, rather than continuously passed off as slow and dense_.

"It sure is," Peter quietly replied.

There was another voice calling to him now—this one, he recognized.

"Micky?" he asked, turning to face the direction it was coming from.

He blinked. Micky's frantic voice seemed to be coming from a nearby alleyway that was shrouded in a strange, dark fog.

He walked over that way, the girls following him. However, once he got within three feet of the foggy alley, the girls all stopped in their tracks, now casting Peter very cold and derisive looks.

"Can you believe him?" the fourth girl who had complimented him only minutes ago now said. "Can you honestly believe that someone could look that dense on _accident_? You'd think he was doing it on purpose."

"Huh?" Peter asked. "But… but didn't you just…? You just said… I was right there…! I heard you!"

"He can't even talk straight," another girl huffed.

"What a ditz…"

"His British friend is much, much cuter!"

"Oooh, yes, he is!"

"I like the one with the wool hat better!"

"The brunet who does the funny voices is cute, too!"

Peter stared at them all, open-mouthed, as the girls all turned and left him standing there dumbstruck.

"I… I don't understand…" he said.

 _You don't?_ the voice asked. _I think it's pretty clear. Alone, you seem smarter and more attractive to others. Surrounded by those friends of yours—who gladly take the attention for themselves, I might add—you can't compare_.

Peter's heart began to sink.

"So… in order to be taken seriously and liked…"

… _You have to go at it alone_ , the voice finished. _An emerald is a pretty, precious stone on its own, but place it next to a diamond, a ruby, or a sapphire, and it pales in comparison due to its flaws becoming more noticeable—the emerald is softer and breaks easily, as opposed to those tougher, more attractive stones. A flawless emerald is nearly impossible to find_.

"I want to be liked," Peter said. "But I don't want to have to leave my friends to do it—not when I've just found them again."

_Then you will have to spend the rest of your life watching and listening to all of the praises going to them and all of the insults going to you. Can you live with that, Peter?_

Peter wasn't sure at all if he could. But as he heard Micky's frantic cry, he quickly found his answer.

"Yes, I can," he said. "I guess it shows that I have good taste if I'm surrounding myself with people better than me!"

He dashed into the alley, calling Micky's name.

The next thing he knew, he was sitting on the floor of a fog-covered forest with Micky supporting him.

"What… what just happened?" he asked, aloud. "How did I get here?"

"Peter!" Micky exclaimed, now hugging him in joy. "Oh, Peter! You did it! I knew you'd be able to snap out of it again!"

"Now all we have to do is snap Mike out of it!" Davy said, relieved. If Micky and Peter came around, it stood to reason that Mike soon would, too, right?

"Mike?" Peter asked, looking up at the Texan. He gasped. "What… what's wrong with him?"

"You and Micky were in some sort of trance, just like he's now—you wouldn't respond to a word I said—just stared," Davy explained. "Micky got out of it first, and then you. Now we just have to get Mike out of it."

But this wasn't going to be as easy. Mike, despite being unresponsive and blank, seemingly looked from Davy to Micky, and then to Peter. And then he turned on the spot and proceeded to start walking away.

"Mike!" Davy yelped, getting to his feet. "Mike, where are you going?"

"Mike, wait!" Micky exclaimed, helping Peter to his feet, as well. "Come on, Man, it's us!"

"Yeah! Believe me, Mike—if I, of all people, could get out of that trance, I know you can!" Peter added.

But Mike still didn't respond; the Texan continued to walk off, being quickly obscured by the fog.

"Mike!" Davy cried, despairing further. "Mike, don't go!"

"After him!" Micky ordered.

He helped Peter along again as Davy, trying his hardest not to panic, gave chase through the fog.

* * *

So deep and intense was Mr. Zero's loathing of Mike that not even in the world of dreams was he going to give him a vision that would tempt him or make him happy. For Mike, it would be his greatest fears that would be used against him.

And that was why Mike was finding himself lost in the dark fog bank, completely alone and surrounded by darkness.

"Fellas?" he called, wondering if, somehow, Davy, Micky, and Peter had made it here, as well. "If… if any of y'all are around, just give me a shout, you hear?"

He got more than he bargained for. Immediately, his ears were bombarded by frantic cries from all three of them.

Mike was running around in circles, trying and failing to pinpoint the sources of the sounds. They seemed to be coming from all directions, and they were getting more and more frantic as he stood there, trying to figure out what to do.

"I have to calm down," he whispered to himself. "I can't help them if my head isn't clear. And goodness knows they need help the way they're carrying on like that… But where _are_ they?"

"Mike, please!" Peter called. "Don't do this!"

"We need you, Man!" Micky added.

"Mike!" Davy's cried. "Mike, where are you?"

They all sounded so broken—and it tore Mike up to hear it. But he still couldn't discern from where they were coming from.

He started running in one direction, thinking that was where they were coming from, but came up empty as the voices grew fainter. He tried another direction, and then another… and then the last one. And all four times, he found nothing, only able to hear their frantic cries, and nothing more. They didn't even seem to hear his replies.

"Why can't I help them…?" he whispered.

 _Because, Michael, there are some things that aren't meant to be. You can't help them because destiny dictates it. Did you honestly expect everything to last forever? That isn't how the world works. Everything is ephemeral and fleeting—including friendships. But the pain of your failures will be with you forever; that is the only exception to the rule_.

Mike could feel his heart twist with every word the voice said.

_It hurts, doesn't it? But there is a way to avoid any further pain. You must run—run from your failures, as well as run from the ones you failed to help, for it was they who caused you to fail by expecting anything from you. No matter what happens, you will lose them eventually; leaving now will limit the pain, but the longer you delay, the greater the pain will be. You don't want that, do you?_

"No…"

Mike backed away slightly, and then turned and ran. Everything he had felt upon finding Davy, and then Micky and Peter… it had filled him with a hope stronger than anything he had ever felt. But that hope was being rapidly eclipsed, and it was only getting worse, for the faster he tried to run, the louder the others' voices seemed to be getting.

"Mike, please…!" Davy's voice cried out, nearly breaking from the strain of his own despair and exhaustion. "Don't go, Mike!"

And now Mike had to stop.

 _What are you doing?_ the voice hissed at him. _Are you so willing to increase the level of pain you'll feel later?_

"They're hurting, too," Mike said. "If I can reduce their pain, then that's all that matters—even if it means that I have to increase my own pain. If it's a choice between all four of us hurting or just one of us, then… it's a no-brainer that I should be the only one to shoulder all that hurt. If destiny says I have to fail and lose these friendships later, then fine. But let me help them now, while I still can."

He shut his eyes now, trying to focus on where exactly the others' voices were coming from. Suddenly, he felt the presence of someone in front of him. Opening his eyes, he blinked in surprise to find himself in a forest, which was also surrounded by fog. And Davy was standing in front of him, exhausted from having chased after him.

"Davy…!" Mike exclaimed, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Davy's eyes were blinking back tears now, but he grinned.

"You're back," the English boy whispered.

Micky and Peter now emerged from the fog, both looking relieved to see Mike, who was still puzzled as to how he got here. But there were more important things to deal with.

"Guys…" he said. "I don't know what just happened. And I don't know what's going to happen. But I'm sorry for anything I did," the Texan said.

"Something had the three of you in a trance," Davy said. He blinked recalling how he hadn't been thinking straight earlier. "…I… I half-wonder if I was in one, too, for a little while, at least."

"But who would put the four of us in a trance—and why?" Peter asked.

Mike's eyes widened, now recalling the voice.

"I think it was Zero…" he said.

Davy's eyes widened, but Micky and Peter just looked confused.

"Look, did the two of you ever meet a guy in a three-piece suit acting so insistent on getting you to sign some sort of contract?" Mike asked them.

Peter shook his head, but Micky gulped and gave a nervous nod.

"I almost signed one of those contracts last night," he admitted. "When Peter was in trouble this guy in the suit offered to help if I signed that contract. If Rue hadn't stopped me, I probably would've gone through with it."

"You never mentioned that!" the blond exclaimed.

"Well, in all the excitement, I kinda forgot…"

"Hold it," Mike said. "When the rest of you were in those trances just now, did you hear a voice talking to you?"

He was met with three wide-eyed nods.

"What was it saying?"

"That I could only be free—just like I wanted—if I left you lot behind," Davy said.

"It told me that if I wanted to be a star, I had to fly solo," Micky said.

"And it told me that if I wanted people to like me, I had to stay away from you guys because you were so good, I couldn't compare," Peter added.

"And it was telling me to leave you guys now to avoid inevitably failing you later on," Mike finished. "Anybody noticing a pattern here?"

"The voice wanted us to stay away from each other," Davy said.

"Exactly," Mike said, nodding. "I'd had a feeling that something was going to happen; if what we've been suspecting is right, and that we do know each other from somewhere, then something caused us to get separated without any memories. And whatever it was just tried to do it again."

"But why?" Micky asked.

"That's something we need to figure out next…" Mike began, but he trailed off as the fog and forest around them vanished; they found themselves in the upstairs hallway of Hagglethorn Hall. Their four bedrooms had their doors open, and they could see themselves in each room.

"We're still asleep!" Peter exclaimed. "You mean this was a dream?"

"All four of us are having the same dream?" Micky asked, skeptical.

"Well, Mike and I had the same dream a couple nights ago—people calling to us through the darkness," Davy threw in.

"…You're kidding…" Micky and Peter said, in unison, prompting them to exchange glances and add, "You, too?"

"Gentlemen, I rest my case," Mike said. "Now, I make a motion that we get our astral selves back into our bodies and discuss this new set of developments in the morning."

The decision was unanimously agreed upon, and the rest of the night passed without any further incident.


	14. Play the Drum a Little Bit Louder

Mr. Zero had not been pleased to see his dream manipulation plan fail as it had. He had been so close—the other three had nearly been completely consumed by their dreams, and Mike had almost fallen into despair. But something had stopped them, and it seemed to have been each others' voices. And that left Zero with a question: how was it that they were always able to hear each other?

Was it that pesky Power of Love again? Were they that selfless regarding each other that this power really _was_ stronger than him? And did that mean that the breaking of his curse was imminent?

"I must find a way to block it," he hissed. "There is a counter for every power, and there must be a counter for that so-called Power of Love! But what is that counter? Dark Power isn't doing a thing…!"

Zero trailed off. He was trying to counter Power with Power—perhaps _that_ was the problem? Perhaps the answer was in something more earthly… Yes, that's it!

He now snapped his fingers, reappearing in the laboratory in Rosebud Lane. Dr. Mendoza was ranting to both his daughter and his other assistant, Groot, in regards to Peter's disappearance.

"Tork has simply vanished!" Mendoza exclaimed. "Out of this first floor window, at that! He would've broken his neck climbing out of the window, and the door to the lab was still locked from the outside! And there hasn't been a trace of him in a day—I was certain that even if he did try to escape, the realization that he couldn't do anything on his own would send him back here soon enough!"

"Perhaps he just hasn't realized that yet, Father," the girl responded. Though she, too, was wondering how Peter had managed to pull this off.

"Well, he had best do so quickly!" Dr. Mendoza said. "It is imperative that I use my new serum on a guinea pig, and Tork is the perfect choice!" He pulled a bottle from the pocket of his lab coat. "Imagine—a serum that releases a blend of chemicals that takes ahold of the brain and puts the one under its influence into a state of complete and utter obedience to the one who administered it, with no free will and no emotions! I need to test it, and Tork is the perfect subject to test it on!"

"No emotions," Mr. Zero repeated, now making his presence known. "Dr. Mendoza, I believe that is _exactly_ what I am looking for!"

"Who are you?"

"The one who can grant your every desire and can ensure that you are the most respected scientist in the world—for a small price."

A contract and pen appeared in Mr. Zero's hands, and the scientist's daughter gasped, covering her mouth with her hand.

"Lucifer…!" she whispered.

"Exactly, my dear," Mr. Zero smirked. He turned back to Dr. Mendoza. "I know where your guinea pig went—and I know where he's going. I can bring him back to you. I can also guarantee you three more guinea pigs—since he is currently hiding with three others—if you can guarantee me one thing."

"…What would that be?"

"First, that when you administer this wonderful serum—what do you call it?"

"Mendozium."

"Yes, this Mendozium… I wish to be able to control the ones under its influence, as well. Are you in agreement with my sharing control over your guinea pigs for this project?"

"I do not know why you would wish to control Tork or any other guinea pig of mine, but if that is all you request in exchange for bringing me him and these other guinea pigs, I would gladly agree. But why would you ask this of me, as opposed to my mortal soul, as one would expect?"

Mr. Zero chuckled. Knowing how unscrupulous and unrepentant the doctor was, his place in Mr. Zero's domain was all but set up for him.

"Let's just say that, for the moment, I want Tork's soul more than yours. I almost had him in my grasp once, but he slipped away from me, thanks to those other three. I will not allow that to happen again. I will have him— _and_ the other three! And if you sign here and guarantee me that, I will reward you lavishly."

Dr. Mendoza grabbed for the pen.

"Father, no!" his daughter pleaded. True though it was that she considered Peter an empty-headed ditz, she still wouldn't wish this fate on him—or anyone, to say nothing of her father making a deal with the Devil himself.

"This is for the both of us," the doctor replied, signing his name on the contract. "Now, where can I find Tork and the other three guinea pigs?"

Mr. Zero handed him a slip of paper.

"I am certain they will end up at this location soon enough," Zero said. "Oh, and if I may make a recommendation… Make it seem as though that Tork was the one who tipped you off to this. I will find it most amusing to see the other three turn on him upon thinking that they have been betrayed. While they fight will be the most opportune moment to administer this serum to them. "

His piece said, Mr. Zero snapped his fingers, disappearing.

* * *

Mike's first conscious thought upon waking up that morning was to immediately check on the others. They all were fine, waking up not too long after Mike, but still a little shaken from the things they had seen, and were discussing it over breakfast in Davy's room.

"It's scary," Peter admitted. "Whoever was behind that dream we all had… well, not only did they want to keep us apart, but it's like they knew everything about us—all our hopes and desires…"

"And fears," Mike added, quietly.

The Texan's eyes scanned the other three, his insides twisting at the thought of this not lasting—that he would, inevitably, end up failing them. His heart was crying out that it couldn't possibly be true—that what he had found between him and the others was too strong to ever break. But was that his heart saying that out of confidence… or denial?

"There's that," Micky said. "And then there was the reveal that this was the second dream we all shared."

"That's right," Davy said. "Like I told you—two nights ago, I had that dream with you three calling out to me. And when I woke up, I found this in my hand." He crossed to the dresser and pulled out the sleeve cuff.

Micky's jaw dropped.

"Hold it!" he exclaimed. "Hold it for just a second!"

He bolted from the room and came back with a shirt—a shirt that had a cuff missing from one of the sleeves.

Wordlessly, Davy held up the cuff to the torn sleeve. It was a perfect match.

They all stared at this, and then glanced back at each other.

"What's going on here?" Davy whispered. "How did I end up with Micky's sleeve cuff? How and why are we remembering bits and pieces of memories that logic says couldn't possibly be true? Why are we having the same dreams? And why are so many terrible things happening to us, too? What _happened_ to us? I know I've felt that I'm out of place here in this castle, but… is it so bad that I'm actually living a giant lie?" He looked around at the castle walls. "Are we _all_ just living a bunch of lies?"

"Even if we _have_ been living lies, what we've got here—with all of us, right now—that's no lie," Peter said, looking to the others individually. "And, quite frankly, I'm more than willing to believe that my life with Dr. Mendoza was a lie. What Micky said, about knowing me from somewhere before… that sounds truer than anything I've ever felt, even if it's supposed to be impossible."

"He's right," Mike said, as Micky nodded in fervent agreement. "Davy, when you found me in those woods when I was snared by that plant, I could hear the concern in your voice. You spoke to me like an old friend, and even when that thing went to grab you, you still were more concerned for me. That was no lie."

"And it was you who snapped me out of that trance I was in last night," Micky reminded him. "Even if something terrible _did_ happen to us that got us all separated… I guess the important thing is that we somehow managed to find each other again."

There was a knock on Davy's door, and Creech now entered; the look on his face was unmistakable.

"How long have you been standing out there?" Davy asked, his eyes wide.

"Long enough, Master David," the majordomo said, forlornly. "I was listening to the four of you talking, and even I have to admit that you do not converse as though you were strangers." He pulled a book from the pocket of his uniform.

"What's that?" Davy asked.

"The records of Hagglethorn Hall," Creech said. "I spent a good deal of the early morning going over them in an attempt to try to make some sense of these recent events, plus I figured that you would want to know the answers, as well. These records have always been meticulously kept."

"And…?" Davy prompted.

"Something very strange has happened," Creech said. "There are pages marred—with names, dates, and details of your family tree blotted out with red ink—and it seems to have been done deliberately."

The four took a look at the pages in question. Davy's name was clearly legible on the page in question, but all the surrounding names were, indeed, blotted out.

"There're multiple branches on this family tree," Mike observed. "You can't read them, but they're obviously there."

Davy gave a nod, following the line from himself to a pair of blotted-out names, which led to another blotted-out name.

"That would be… my grandfather," Davy said.

"The records for him are partially blotted out, as well," Creech said. "But from what I gathered, he was offered the title of Earl of Hagglethorn due to his services to the Crown during the Second World War. He turned it down out of modesty, and the title was passed down to this man…" He pointed to another blotted out name. "As you can tell by the tree, this man would be your uncle, and it was he who vanished under mysterious circumstances. Somehow, the title of Earl fell from him to you."

"Somehow…" Davy repeated.

"Hey, Davy…" Micky said. "You _do_ remember your grandfather and your uncle, right? Or are your memories of them all messed up, too?"

Davy had to think for a moment, trying to recall any memories of them that he might have had—or had been given.

"I remember what they're supposed to look like," he said. "But I don't recall anything else. Maybe I just haven't met them…?"

"I guess that's possible," Mike said, mulling it over. "If they're in England and you're here…"

He trailed off, suddenly clutching at his head; it was now his turn for a flash of memory, and he suddenly saw himself in a shabby beachhouse, arguing with an elderly man who was insisting upon taking Davy to England, and Mike trying to argue that he was only hiding behind the excuse that Davy needed his family…

"Mike!" Davy exclaimed, snapping him back to reality.

"…I think _I've_ met your grandfather," the Texan said, baffled.

" _What_ …?" Davy exclaimed, looking from him to the blotted-out records. "That's it, then. Nothing makes sense anymore; I don't think I ought to bother with even _trying_ to understand anything."

"Is there anything I can do for you, Master David?" Creech asked.

"I don't even know if I really _am_ your master," Davy replied, running a hand through his hair.

"Nevertheless, whether you are living a lie or not, I do wish for you to tell me what I can do for you."

The young Englishman looked to the majordomo now.

"If you really mean that, Creech, then there is something you can do."

"Name it."

Davy hesitated, but then spoke, steeling his resolve.

"…Let me go," he said, softly. "Peter's right; no matter what part of my being the Earl of Hagglethorn is truth or lies, I know that my being with these fellas _is_ the truth—or, at least, it's part of the truth. But I need to know the whole truth, and I can't do that if I'm staying here all the time."

Creech looked at him long and hard, but finally gave a nod.

"I first saw it when you found Michael," he said, glancing in the Texan. "He did for you what I could not. And it seems that these two are quickly following suit," he added, looking to Micky and Peter. "Go with them, Master David, and find the truth you are so desperately seeking. But know that no matter what truth you find, you and your friends will always have a home here in Hagglethorn Hall; the doors will always be open to the four of you, and that is a promise."

Davy swallowed the lump in his throat; he knew that must have been the most difficult thing for Creech to say.

"Thank you," he said, sincerely. "You don't know what this means to me."

"I think I have an idea," Creech said. "And that is why I must let you find these answers which you are seeking. I take comfort knowing that I was able to help you in some way, at the very least."

The lump in Davy's throat now grew a little bit more, and he gave the butler a quick hug; Creech was surprised but returned it.

"I promise, Creech," he said. "Fake life or not… I won't ever forget what you've done for me—even if I do get my real memories back."

"I hope so, Master David."

"Not 'Master,'" Davy instructed. "Just David."

Creech nodded and now withdrew, and Davy stood there for a moment before turning back to the others. Now that he had Creech's blessing, it was time to get to the bottom of this mystery.

"What say we find a place where we can discuss this and get closer to the truth while we're at it?"

Peter snapped his fingers.

"I know just the place—it's the perfect place to think!" he said. "We can take the animals, too—they'll love it."

"Where is this place?" Mike asked.

"Oh, somewhere on the beach," Peter said, knowingly. Micky cast him a look, getting a good idea of the place he was talking about.

"Yeah," the brunet said. "Let's go with Pete on this!"

Davy exchanged a glance with Mike, who shrugged, silently agreeing that they might as well.

* * *

Peter and Micky, riding atop Rue along with Emerald, led the way as Davy and Mike followed atop Saph, along with Diamond Jim. The prairie chicken and the horse had, somehow, naturally bonded with the dog and the elephant. By this time, though, the boys weren't surprised by it.

"Hey, we're heading to the beach, aren't we?" Mike asked, once he figured out their bearings upon leaving the forest. Diamond Jim perched on his shoulder, calm but intrigued by where they were headed.

"That's right," Peter grinned. "I'm taking you to where I ran into Micky the day before yesterday."

"You mean _I_ ran into _you_ ," Micky reminded him, smirking.

"Eh, details…"

They chatted casually as they arrived at the beach. Peter now leaped off of Rue's back, and Micky leaped down after him.

"Well, I have to agree, it _is_ a great place to think," Davy said, as he and Mike got off of Saph. "The salty breeze, the sound of the waves…"

"The shabby little beachhouse?" Mike asked, incredulously as his eyebrows arched upon seeing it. And then his eyes widened as he realized that the balcony was the same one he had seen in his vision just a little while ago.

" _Beachhouse_?" Davy exclaimed, turning around to see it, recalling his own flashes of memories.

Peter watched them as they stared, unblinking, at the structure.

"I knew it," he said, softly. "Micky looked at it the same way when I pointed it out to him."

"Yeah," the brunet agreed. "There's something up with that place."

"There's something up with the stuff inside it, too," Peter said, heading up the back staircase.

"Hey, are we allowed to go up there?" Mike asked.

"The place is for rent; we _should_ be allowed to look around," the blond replied. "The owner said I could come back if I needed to. I think we need to—all of us."

Rue now ambled towards the back steps, and Micky stopped him with a yelp before the pachyderm could attempt to put his weight on them.

"Sorry, buddy, but I don't think you can make it without going right through the floor. And I don't think we can afford to have that happen."

"Especially since all of my money might not even be my money," Davy agreed, silently grabbing Saph's reins as the blue roan also attempted to make his way to the steps. "I can't exactly go tossing it around if it isn't mine to spend…"

Rue obligingly stepped aside, but raised his trunk at the building. Saph also stepped aside, but kept rearing on his hind legs, as though trying to get a better look, and Emerald also tried to sit up while on Rue's back, trying to look. Diamond Jim flew up to the balcony rail, his feather crest flared in excitement.

"Well, _they_ think there's something worth seeing in there," Mike intoned. He shrugged it off, heading up the stairs, stopping in his tracks as he entered the alcove.

"What do you think?" Peter asked.

Davy arrived now, his jaw dropping as he looked around. As incredible as it seemed, these shabby walls seemed more like home than the luxurious castle halls of Hagglethorn ever had.

"Oh, _wow_ …" Micky gasped. "Pete, I don't know exactly what you've found here, but you've found something, alright!"

"The house isn't the only thing I found, either," the blond said, pulling the sheet off of the drum set.

Micky stared at the gold-painted drums, his mouth open, but unable to say a word.

"Would you look at this?" Mike exclaimed, opening one of the cases to reveal a 12-string guitar. It wasn't new or overly pretty, but as Mike took it into his hands, the slightly-worn parts fit his fingers perfectly.

Davy picked up the tambourine that had been lying next to the guitar that Mike had just retrieved, running his fingers over the wood and the metal discs on it. Peter then picked up the bass guitar he had found last time as Micky took a seat in front of the drums, picking up the sticks.

"Well, as long as we're here, maybe we can have a little fun goofing off with these," he said. "After seeing Rue play his drums over and over, I think might have picked up a thing or two…"

He randomly struck up a beat as Mike started playing the guitar; Peter followed with the bass, and Davy struck the tambourine. The end result sounded surprisingly good—and it prompted Mike to start singing—the same song that had come to his mind the other day about listening to a band. And to his surprise, Davy started singing along with him.

Mike gave him a glance that was amusement mixed with bemusement, which Davy returned as they both continued to sing. Neither of them could account for how they both knew the words—or how Micky and Peter knew exactly what and how to play along. It didn't matter; this felt… _right_.

The song was cut short prematurely, however, as there was a furious pounding on the door.

"What's goin' on in there?" a voice demanded.

"Oops; there's the owner…" Peter said, as the man came inside.

Mr. Babbitt looked around, pausing as he noticed Peter.

"Oh, it's you."

"Yeah," the blond said, with an apologetic smile. "You did say that I could come back, and, well… I thought I'd bring a few friends to see the place."

"Oh. Well… keep it down, will you? We don't need the cops being called here on account of the noise," Mr. Babbitt asked. He turned to leave, but paused and looked back at the four faces. "You sure I don't know you guys from somewhere?"

The four exchanged glances and could only respond with shrugs.

"Don't worry; it'll come to me," Babbitt said.

"If you find out… please tell us," Mike said. Something was stopping them from remembering who they were… but if someone else could remember and help them figure it out, then… that could change the whole game for them!

"Yeah, that's right!" Davy said. "I hate not being able to remember a face; do tell us if you figure out where we've seen you before!"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'll do that," Mr. Babbitt said. "Just give me some time to think. In the meantime, you can look around, but keep it quiet, okay?"

They nodded, and Micky placed the drum sticks down after Babbitt had left.

"Maybe we oughta just… sit and talk like we originally planned. And hope that he'll come back with the answer," he said.

"Yeah, good idea," Davy said, moving to place the tambourine down. He paused as he noticed that one of the metal discs on the instrument seemed thicker than the others. "Hey, what's this?"

He gave a small tug on it, and it pulled free of the tambourine.

"This isn't part of the tambourine," he realized aloud. "It's some sort of coin or disc or something…"

Micky, who was pulling the sheet back over the drums, paused as he noticed something similar on the side of one of the snares.

"Hey, there's one here, too!" he said, pulling it free. "How about that, huh? Do the guitars have one, too?"

It turned out that the guitars did indeed have them; Mike and Peter each found one, as well, stuck to the backs of the guitars' necks as they were putting the instruments away in their cases.

"Must be some sort of owner's disc or something in case they get misplaced," Mike said, but he didn't see any name or address on it. He took a closer look after he had put the guitar away. One side was totally blank, and the other side had a small carving, with an empty space in it, as though something had been mounted within it. "Well, that's something you don't see everyday…"

He squinted, trying to get a closer look at the carving when, suddenly, the front door was forced open.

If they had been expecting Mr. Babbitt coming back with the answer as to who they were, they were, unfortunately, not so lucky. In fact, they were most unlucky, for it was Dr. Mendoza who stood in the doorway.


	15. A Very Extraordinary Scene

Peter gasped, staring in horror at Dr. Mendoza as he sneered back at the four boys. Micky also paled as Mike and Davy glanced at the doctor, baffled.

"Who in the world is he?" Mike asked, though an unpleasant feeling told him that he knew from his lost memories that he certainly was no friend.

"That's Dr. Mendoza!" Peter gasped.

"Mendoza?" Davy repeated. Like Mike, something was also telling him that Mendoza was not a person they wanted to run into.

Davy clutched at Mike's arm now, which seemed to set off the older boy's protective instincts. Mike took a step forward, as though trying to serve as a barrier between this man and his three friends.

"Mike, no!" Peter exclaimed. "Get back! Stay away from him!"

"You can drop the charade now, Peter," Mendoza said, following the advice that Mr. Zero had given him. "You have done good work, bringing them to me; you're finally earning your keep."

"What?" the blond cried in horror, his voice rising a couple octaves. "No! No, I'd never bring them to you! Never, never, never!" He looked around at the others, desperately, as they stared at him, stunned. "Honest, I wouldn't! I'd never do that to anyone—and certainly not to you guys!"

"I will see to it that your efforts will be rewarded, Peter," Dr. Mendoza said, now grabbing Mike's arm and pulling out a hypodermic needle.

"Whoa, wait a minute!" Mike yelped, his eyes widening at the needle. "Just what do you think you're doing with that?"

"You will be the first guinea pig to experience the effects of my new serum, Mendozium!"

"No!" Peter cried, as Mike struggled to pull away. "No, you can't do that to him!"

He and Micky now rushed forward, but Davy, suddenly afire with fury, launched himself into an uppercut that not only succeeded in knocking the doctor off-balance, but it also caused him to drop the needle.

The doctor's grip on Mike's arm loosened enough for the Texan to pull away.

"Get going!" he ordered the others, as Mendoza struggled to his feet. "I'll hold him off until you guys get away—"

"Not a chance!" Davy insisted, grabbing Mike's arm again, this time for the purpose of dragging him off with them.

"Davy, get out of here!" Mike ordered.

"Not without you!" the little Englishman retorted, now pulling him towards the back door, where Micky and Peter hadn't budged from.

Mike soon realized that there would be no convincing the others to leave as long as he remained here. Desperate to see them to safety, he now nodded, ushering them out the back door, gabbing Diamond Jim from the balcony railing on his way down the stairs.

Rue and Saph, sensing trouble, now positioned themselves near the back staircase so that all the Monkees had to do was vault over the banister and onto their rides' backs. Micky and Peter went first, and Rue cantered off down the beach carrying them and Emerald, and Saph galloped away, as well, carrying Mike, Davy, and Diamond Jim.

Dr. Mendoza appeared at the top of the back steps, glaring at them—his eyes bore into Peter with absolute malice. He knew that chasing after them would be useless, but perhaps Mr. Zero could help him out again.

Meanwhile, the roan and the pachyderm did not stop until they were far enough away and were sure that Mendoza wasn't following them. It was then that they all finally relaxed—but only slightly.

Davy and Mike looked back in the direction of the beachhouse as Micky tried to catch his breath after holding it for so long.

"Looks like I owe you another one, Davy," Mike said, after some time.

"You'd have done the same for me," Davy insisted. "You owe me nothing."

Peter didn't say anything for a while, just hugging Emerald as he blinked back the tears he was holding back.

"I didn't tell him!" he cried out at last, in an agonized voice. "Guys, I swear it! I'd never do that to you!"

"Peter," Mike said, managing a smile. "Did we ever say for a moment that we believed him over you?"

"…Huh?" the blond asked, hardly daring to believe it.

"Don't forget, Man," Micky said. "I was there that night when you stood up to him, saying you didn't want him to hurt anyone ever again. I know that, right there, was the real truth."

"And even if Micky hadn't seen or heard that, we still would've believed you," Davy promised. "After all, someone tried to make me think that it was Micky who attacked me last evening."

"And then there was that same dream we all had last night," Mike said. He frowned. "Someone is _really_ trying very hard to tear us apart."

"But why?" Peter wondered aloud, relieved that they did believe him.

"I don't know," Mike answered. "But that's something we've got to figure out." He leaped down from Saph's back and pulled a gavel from his pocket, striking it on a nearby rock. "Okay, I hereby call a meeting to order!"

Davy, Micky, and Peter leaped down, as well, and joined him.

"Before we start this meeting… where'd you get the gavel from?" Davy asked.

"It was beside that guitar I was using a little while ago," the Texan said. "Guess I forgot to let go of it when we hightailed it out of there. Forgot to let go of this little medallion thing, too…"

"Oh, yeah…" Micky said, realizing that he had the one he had found too. "I'll have to put this back once that creep leaves."

Davy nodded, glancing at the medallion in his hand, and Peter took a second look at the one he had found.

"Looks like we'll all have to go back and return these," the English boy said.

Mike now took a second look at the carving on the back of the medallion; now that they were in the daylight, he could see what it was.

"There's a bird carved on this one," he observed. "A fowl. Actually, if I didn't know any better, I'd say it looked like…" He trailed off, glancing at Diamond Jim, who was still perched on Saph's back. "…A Texas prairie chicken…"

"There's a horse carved on mine," Davy said, as he turned the medallion around in his hands.

"Asian elephant," Micky announced, taking a look.

"And I've got a dog over here," Peter said. "Well, besides Emerald, of course."

"Hold it…" Mike said. "Anyone see another pattern here?"

The boys looked from the animals to the medallions, and then back to each other, their expressions baffled.

"It's like we were meant to find these medallions," Davy said.

"Just like we were meant to find each other," Peter said, softly.

Diamond Jim now flew over to Mike, warbling for a moment before preening his feathers. When the bird finished, he had a glittering object in his beak.

"What's that you've got there?" Mike asked. He held out his hand, and the bird placed the object in his palm, prompting his eyes to widen. "This is a _diamond_! …At least I _think_ it's a diamond…" He grabbed a glass soda pop bottle that someone had tossed on the beach and attempted to scratch it with the stone. The stone left a deep gash in the glass, and Mike could only stare. "Sweet mother of mercy…"

Saph now trotted up to Davy, shaking his mane. It was when Davy took a closer look that he saw something in roan's mane. He got up, extracting a blue sapphire, the same size as the diamond that Mike had been given.

"Hey, I think they've been holding out on us!" Micky mused. He blinked as Rue ambled over to him. "Don't tell me—you've got something, too?"

The elephant let out a little trumpet, pulling a bright red ruby from the circus collar that he had been wearing and gently placing it in Micky's hand.

Peter now looked to Emerald expectantly, who scratched at his own collar until the green stone that shared his name fell from it. The blond picked it up, biting his lip as he remembered the words that the voice had told him.

_An emerald is a pretty, precious stone on its own, but place it next to a diamond, a ruby, or a sapphire, and it pales in comparison due to its flaws becoming more noticeable—the emerald is softer and breaks easily, as opposed to those tougher, more attractive stones._

Peter shut his eyes for a moment, sighing. He knew it was no coincidence that the voice had made that comparison, only for him to end up getting the actual stone—and a dog named after it.

"Pete?" Micky asked. "Is something wrong?"

The blond gave a start, noticing that the other three were staring at him upon noticing his reaction.

"It's nothing," Peter said, managing a wan smile at them. "It's supposed to be like this, I'm sure."

"Just what is _that_ supposed to mean?" Mike asked.

"Well, it makes sense that you'd end up with the more precious stones." Peter shrugged it off. "You three are just better. That voice in the dream last night, when he was saying I had to stay away from you three to get people to like me… he said it was because that you three are just better, that I sorta… well…" He wordlessly held up the emerald; surrounded by the other gems, the green gem did look duller than the others. "I can't compare."

"Don't say that!" Micky exclaimed.

"No, no; it's okay," Peter assured him. "I don't mind. I mean… you guys are my friends, and that's all I need. The fact that you believed me over Dr. Mendoza without any second guesses. And it's like I told the voice—if I'm surrounding myself with people better than me, that's a good thing."

"But that's not true!" Davy said. "You're just as good as we are—in fact, we wouldn't even have made it this far without you!"

Peter blinked.

"He's right," Mike said, holding up his medallion with his free hand. "If you hadn't suggested going to that beachhouse, we wouldn't have found these. I don't know what they're all about, but they are, clearly, a clue to solving this whole thing—whatever this whole thing may be."

"And there's more than that," Micky said. "Peter, last night, you told that cop that I was your best friend. When I had that flash of memory earlier—when I remembered you in that magician's trance, I saw myself saying that about you. I should've said something about it when I had that memory, but… I didn't. And then you went and said it, without any doubts." He placed a hand on blond's shoulder. "All of those people who're trying to make you believe that you're slow… they just don't get it that you think with your heart instead of your head. I was thinking about the logic of it. But you knew it was the truth, and you weren't afraid to let anyone know it."

"And that probably means you know what's going on here better than the rest of us," Davy added. "It's like I said back at the Hall—nothing makes sense anymore. We're trying to use logic, and that's getting us nowhere."

Peter looked at the other three, both moved and astounded.

"So it looks like it's your turn, Shotgun," Mike finished, blinking as he pondered over why he had just called him that. "What do you make of these medallions and gems—besides what Zero was trying to tell you, of course?"

"Um, well…" the blond said, slightly nervous as the pressure grew. He looked at the medallion in his left hand and the emerald in the right hand for a moment. "Other than the different animals carved on them, are the medallions all the same?"

"Yeah," Micky said, looking at all of them. "Next to each animal carving is a little indent, like something's supposed to fit there."

"Something like… a gemstone?" Peter added, placing the emerald into the indentation in his medallion.

It fit perfectly.

"Well, what do you know?" the blond grinned, pleased that his hunch had been right after all.

"Look!" Davy exclaimed. "The back of the medallion! There's writing on it now!"

Peter turned it over.

"It says, 'To unlock the memories sealed apart.' …Ohmigosh! You guys, I think this is it!"

"What is it?" the others asked, in unison.

Peter's face fell.

"…That's it. That's all it says." He sighed. "Guess it wasn't very helpful after all, was it?"

"Well, wait just a minute," Mike said. "There're three more medallions and gems, aren't there? My guess is if we put them all together, we'll get something that makes a whole lot more sense."

"There we go with the logic again," Davy mused, but he did as Mike suggested and placed the sapphire in the space in the medallion.

Micky and Mike also placed their gemstones in their medallions and well.

"More writing on the backs!" Micky exclaimed. " _Yes_!"

It took them a moment to figure out the order in which to read them, but it soon became clear—first Micky's, then Peter's, then Mike's, and, lastly, Davy's.

"Okay," Mike said. "Now, put 'em all together, and what have we got?"

Softly, each read his line out to the others, putting together the entire verse:

 _Place these keys within the slab_  
To unlock the memories sealed apart.  
Know that these keys are useless without  
A great power in the keepers' hearts.

Davy looked up as he finished reading the final line.

"And logic once again fizzles away," he sighed.

"Yeah, that was about as clear as wet cement," Micky agreed.

"Well, it's _something_ to go on," Mike said. "It confirms what we've suspected—someone or something messed with our heads—and our memories."

"But what does it mean, though—about the slab and the keys and the power?" Davy asked.

"These must be keys," Mike said, indicating the medallions. "So we must be the keepers."

"And the power?" Peter asked. "We don't have any power! How are we going to use these keys?"

There was a long pause in the conversation.

"Maybe it's something we need to learn," Micky said. "Maybe it's written in that slab thing we need to find?"

"Yeah, and where do we find it?" Davy asked. "There's still so much we don't know—including who did this to us in the first place—not to mention the reason why they did it!" He shook his head. "Someone is making this very hard, deliberately—everything is stacked up against us!"

"We can't give up now!" Peter exclaimed. "The fact that we're one step closer is a good thing!"

"Pete's right. And it's like I said before," Mike said. "I'm pretty sure it's Zero who did this to us. I don't know what we did to set him off, but he wanted to see us apart—and the fact that he's trying to split us up again by stacking everything against us is why we can't let him win."

"Maybe we should just wait for him to show up again," Micky mused. "If he's so obsessed with trying to keep us apart and getting us to sign those weird contracts of his, then it's a cinch he's going to show up and try it again. And then we can hound him for answers when he does."

Davy wasn't so sure.

"And what happens if, while we're trying to question him, he pulls another stunt like the one that got us into this situation in the first place?" he asked. "We'll be right back where we started—only without the memories we have now, and once again separated from each other…" He trailed off, his throat getting tighter. "I don't want to go back to that. I don't want to do anything that has a risk of losing all of you."

Mike now placed a hand on Davy's shoulder.

"I don't want that, either," he assured him. "None of us do. And believe me, I was in a much worse place than you were." He hesitated. "I don't know what would've happened if you hadn't found me when you did."

Mike wasn't the kind to wear his heart on his sleeve, so he hadn't said anything about it, but just as Peter had felt that Micky was his best friend, which Micky had felt in return, Mike had also felt that Davy was his best friend, and he felt badly to see him so down.

"You were the one who told Creech that you want to find the truth," he added.

"I still do," Davy said. "But I want to find it in a way that won't be dangerous to all of us. And knowing where to look would be helpful, too."

Mike pondered for a minute.

"Well, we found these medallions in that beachhouse," he said. "We were chased out of there pretty quickly, but maybe we'll find more answers if we look around there."

"One problem," Peter said. "Dr. Mendoza is back there."

"He doesn't strike me as the kind of guy who'd stick around waiting for us to come back, though," Micky said. "He's probably back in his creepy castle, trying to figure out where we went to. I don't think he'd expect us to go back there."

"Then let's go," the Texan said, leading the way down the beach.

The animals ambled along behind them, but they weren't the only ones following them. Still unseen and invisible, Mr. Zero seethed as he watched them.

 _They may have found the keys, but I will not let them wander around in that pad of theirs and strengthen whatever traces of memories they have_ , he vowed. _They may be one step closer to success, but this will end. Even if I claim just one, I will still win. And I know which one I wish to see suffer at my hands for all eternity. I just need to get him away from the others long enough to get him to sign_.

He snapped his fingers, and, once again, the sky turned red and a thundering crack filled the air. The four friends looked up, but only for a moment; Mike suddenly let out a yell as he found himself sinking into the ground as the sand beneath him fell—as though he was standing in an hourglass.

"Mike!" the other three cried, as Diamond Jim shrieked out an alarm call.

"St-stay back!" the Texan ordered, not wanting any of them to be caught, as well. "You three clear out of here!"

They didn't, of course. And as Mike tried to climb out of the pit, but the falling sand was pulling him further and further down in seconds. Soon, he was up to his neck, extending his arms fruitlessly as he still continued to sink, tilting his head back to keep his face to the air.

"Get a rope or something!" Micky yelled to the other two, looking desperately for the fishing net he had seen lying on the beach the other day when he had chased Rue here.

"There's no time!" Peter cried.

Davy had been standing in helpless horror as he had watched Mike sink; it was just like when he had been attacked by the plant. There was nothing that Davy could do. But that wouldn't stop him from trying. The young Englishman threw himself forward into the pit as Mike's head became completely buried, leaving only his extended hand, which Davy seized as he started to sink, too—headfirst. And Mike completely disappeared beneath the sand.

"No!" Micky cried, and both he and Peter lunged forward, trying to make a human chain to pull Mike and Davy back, but it didn't seem to help; Davy was still sinking, and now Micky and Peter were being pulled down, as well.

"Rue!" Micky howled, as Davy and then Peter disappeared—and then Micky, too, started to follow. "Rue, your trunk!"

The elephant rushed forward as Micky also sank headfirst into the sand, but before he could grab Micky's exposed ankle, the boy vanished with his comrades into the sandy abyss.


	16. Don't Smile at Me and Shake My Hand

Davy had desperately tried to hold onto Mike's hand as they continued to sink—and then, it seemed, fall through empty space. But as they fell, Davy felt his grip slipping. He tried to cry out Mike's name—to plead with him to hold on—but only received a mouthful of sand for his efforts.

He received another mouthful of sand as he attempted to let out an agonized cry as Mike's fingers slipped out from under his own and the Texan began falling separately from the others.

Davy's world went dark after that, his last conscious thought being an attempt to try to reach out to Mike once again. The English boy came to upon hearing the sound of Micky's voice frantically calling for him and the others.

"I… I'm right here!" Davy heard Peter respond. The blond sounded dazed and shocked, but otherwise okay.

Davy opened his eyes, blinking as his vision focused enough to see that he had fallen into some underground cavern, lit with torches mounted on the walls. He tried to sit up in the large pile of sand that had fallen down with them, managing to do so, albeit clumsily.

"Davy!" Micky exclaimed.

By Davy didn't respond; his heart was in his throat as he realized that there were only three of them sprawled out among the sand pile.

"Mike!" he cried, his voice cracking. " _Mike_!"

There was no response; Micky and Peter started calling frantically for the Texan, but to no avail.

"You don't think he could be…?" Peter began, but trailed off as he looked at the pile of sand.

Sheer, undiluted horror coursed through Davy's veins, and he now tore into the sand, trying to dig with his fingertips. The others were at his side in an instant, helping him dig. But their efforts were fruitless; they could only move the sand so much with just their hands, and there didn't seem to be any sign of Mike.

"Wait," Peter said, as he stared at the sand. "I don't think Mike's here; we all were on top of the sand when we landed; why would he have been the only one buried?"

Davy stopped digging, staring at his now-bruised fingers.

"Because I let go of him," he whispered in a haunted voice. "I tried to hold onto his hand, but he just…"

Micky and Peter stared at Davy as he started to tremble.

"…I lost him…"

"Oh, Davy…" the blond said, as Micky placed a hand on the English boy's shoulder. "You can't blame yourself for—"

"Yes I can!" Davy cried, burying his face in his hands. "Now I know why I woke up with Micky's sleeve cuff in my hand the other morning—the same thing must've happened to us!"

"Davy, you did your best!" Micky exclaimed. "And Mike would agree with that!"

"Yeah, and it was terrible!" Davy quipped. "It didn't help you, and now Mike is…"

"We don't know that for sure!" Peter said as he continued to dig. "I still say that even if you did let go, there's no reason for him to have been too far away to be buried when we weren't!"

And they kept on digging. Micky even got the idea to break a few of the thinner stalagmites and use them as digging tools. And as they made their way through the sand pile, it became clear that Peter had been right—Mike simply was not here. But that did not give Davy even the slightest bit comfort, for that still meant that Mike was missing—and that it was his fault entirely.

"He would never have left us lying unconscious in the sand—not even to look for help," he said, his voice quivering. "He would've at least woken us up first—and then he would've told us where he was going." He looked around at their surroundings; the cavern chamber they were in branched off in several different directions. "And we don't even know in which direction he was taken."

"Maybe we should just go with our gut instincts on this one," Peter said. "You guys said back there that trying to think with logic wasn't going to work."

Davy looked back to Peter, his expression now slightly hopeful.

"Which way should we go, then?"

Peter thought for a moment before exchanging a glance with Micky.

"Well, what do you think?" the blond asked Davy.

The English boy blinked and looked around.

"I want to say this way…" he said, indicating one of the tunnel branches.

"Then, let's go!" Micky said, heading off in that direction.

"Yeah, but wait for us!" Peter called, as he ran after him.

Davy paused for a moment before following them, hoping that his intuition wasn't going to let him down as he had let Mike down.

 _I'm so sorry, Mike_ , he silently relayed. _I just hope you're okay, so I can tell you that in person_.

* * *

Mike wasn't so sure of where he was or what had just happened to him. His last conscious thought had been falling. And now his head was pounding as he opened his eyes to see that he was lying on some sort of cot in a small cavern. Three cave walls surrounded him, and the only other way out was sealed with what looked like a cage door of stalagmites—which begged the question as to how on Earth he had gotten _inside_ this chamber if there was no way out.

He got up, trying to ignore his vertigo as he walked over to the stalagmites, trying to test their strength.

"Don't bother," a weak-but-familiar voice spoke from behind him. "I already tried everything. There is no way out."

Mike whirled around, seeing someone lying on another cot. Whoever it was lying there was in terrible shape—and Mike's heart skipped a beat as he thought he recognized the voice all too well.

"Micky?" he asked, heading over to him. He soon stopped in his tracks as he saw the young man's black eye. "You're… not Micky!"

"I never claimed I was," Baby Face muttered, weakly.

"You're that creep who threatened Davy!" Mike realized.

"And you're the bodyguard with the bronze fist. In case you haven't noticed, we're prisoners here—all three of us."

"Three?" Mike asked, looking to a third cot. An elderly man was lying there, completely unconscious.

"I've got news for your midget friend," Baby Face said. "It turns out that he's not the Earl of Hagglethorn at all—though with that old guy in the state he's in, that'll probably change."

" _That's_ Davy's uncle?" Mike whispered, walking over to him. "What… what's wrong with him?"

"Same thing that's wrong with me," Baby Face grunted. "We didn't agree to go along with that some suit's plans, and he took offense to that."

" _Zero_ did this?" Mike exclaimed.

"Oh, so you know him?"

"Sort of…" Mike said. "He's been trying to—"

"Get you to sign a contract?" Baby Face asked, wincing in pain.

Mike flinched out of sympathy despite himself, looking from the gangster to Davy's uncle.

"Look, is there anything I can do for either of you? Anything that can help?"

"There ain't a cure for this, Bronze Fist—"

"Nesmith."

"Whatever. This isn't even a real illness, if what that suit said is true."

"Yeah? What did he say?"

"That this is a curse," Baby Face said. "That we're going to be sleeping for a long, long time since we didn't sign his contract."

"A curse?" Mike asked, baffled. Well… that did explain why he and his friends didn't have any memories, but that still didn't make much sense. "How can one guy have the power to cast curses?"

"He said he wasn't a man," Baby Face said, hissing in pain. "He said he was the Devil himself."

" _What_ …?" Mike gasped, his eyes growing wide. It seemed so impossible, and yet… something told him that it made sense—too much sense. That was why everything had seemed so stacked up against them, as Davy had said.

"I didn't believe it either," Baby Face said. "But then he snapped his fingers, and I just dropped… like he stole all my energy—just like he did to the old man over there. Of course, he fell unconscious well before I did."

"And why am I still on my feet?" Mike wondered.

"Well, he hasn't snapped his fingers on you, yet," Baby Face said. "But I have a feeling he's planning something special in mind for you. He was going on about getting his revenge and making you and your flunkies suffer for it. It's why he put me up to threatening your midget friend."

"I knew he was behind that, but… revenge for _what_?" Mike asked.

"You're asking me these questions like he was taking me into his confidence instead of trying to rub me out," Baby Face muttered. "All I got was something about memories and a stone slab."

"What was that about the slab?"

"I don't know, but I saw it. These caverns go for miles under the city—that slab thing is right under the Purple Pelican."

"What is this purple pelican?" Mike asked, though the name sounded familiar. "I have to know—I need to find this slab! Is this a real bird or a statue?"

"It's a bar," Baby Face said. He exhaled as he started to lose focus.

"You can't pass out now!" Mike exclaimed. "I need to know more!"

But Baby Face wasn't talking any further; his limbs went limp. He was still breathing, but he was in a comatose state, just like Davy's uncle.

And Mike just stood there, trying to grasp what he had just heard.

 _The Devil… revenge_ … he mentally repeated, as he sank to his knees, fingering the medallion in his pocket.

"Good afternoon, Michael," Mr. Zero suddenly purred from behind the stalagmite cage.

The Texan leaped a foot into the air.

"Don't do that…" he said, instinctively, before he registered who was speaking. " _You_!"

"We must stop meeting like this, Michael," Mr. Zero said. "It seems that every time we cross paths, you seem to be in some sort of trouble."

"Funny how it works out that way," Mike said, trying to sound a lot braver than he felt. After all, if Mr. Zero was who Baby Face said he was, then Mike knew that there would be very little he could do against him.

"What a shame that your little entourage doesn't seem to be by your side to help you out of this," Mr. Zero said.

"…What did you do to them?" the Texan asked, his voice dangerously quiet.

"I didn't lay a hand on them; it was you I wanted to speak to. It would seem that they just left you to your fate. But that is the way humankind is," the Prince of Darkness continued. "I have seen it for myself, countless times. In the end, one only cares about oneself, and any bonds that tie them to others always end up severed."

"Before you keep going with that, you may as well know that I told the others to split and save themselves when I first started falling into your little sand trap!"

"…But you didn't _mean_ it, did you?"

Mike froze.

"You wanted their help, but you knew it was your duty as the one leading them to tell them to save themselves. And now that they have, you are all alone. But perhaps it is for the best, hmm?"

Mike turned away, trying to block out Zero's voice, but it was impossible.

"You know that as their leader, you hold their fates in your hands. Anything and everything that happens to them is your doing, whether directly or indirectly. And it's only a matter of time until you fail. Now you don't have to worry about that. Sign my contract, and you won't have to worry about anything at all—"

"Anything besides an eternity as your slave, you mean!" Mike quipped back. "I know who you are!"

"Do you?"

"Yes. You're the Devil. You live off of misery and strife and lies and evil…!"

He trailed off as he realized what he had just said.

 _Lies_ …

It was then that Mike recalled something else from just before he had fallen unconscious—the feel of another hand grabbing his own, just as he was falling out of sight with the sand.

They hadn't abandoned him—no more than he could've done so to them. But what _had_ happened to them?

"I suggest you move on," Mike said at last. "This window's closed. I'm still not desperate enough to sign."

Mr. Zero glared at him, and now Mike stepped back from him.

"Your will won't hold out forever," Zero warned him. "Just as you will fail your comrades, so will your inner strength fail you. You will be desperate enough before I am through with you—more than desperate enough to hand over your soul to me. You have your weak points. All I have to do is find them."

Mike glared back.

"Why don't you just give it up?" he asked. "You've got some vendetta against me; it's a cinch you won't offer me whatever it is my heart desires the most. And I'm not buying your tricks and lies. So why not let it go, and let me go on my way? We don't ever have to deal with each other again."

"Because I will _not_ have some smug mortal thinking he can get the better of me!" Mr. Zero shot back.

He looked about ready to reach through the stalagmite bars, which prompted Mike to back away even more. Mr. Zero now snapped his fingers, disappearing, and the Texan now breathed a sigh.

He had managed to get a reprieve, but he knew that Zero would be back—and if tricks and lies continued to fail, Mike was certain that Zero would move onto more painful methods to get him to submit.

He was jerked from his thoughts as he heard three voices call his name coming from one of the tunnels of the cavern. The Texan was wary; was this real, or was this an illusion of Zero's to trick him?

He soon found his answer—there could be no mistaking or faking the horrified looks on their faces as they arrived and saw Mike's plight.

"What did he do to you?" Peter exclaimed.

"Nothing—nothing at all," Mike assured them. "I'm fine; he's just got me locked up in here for now."

"This is all my fault," Davy said, unable to even look him in the eyes. "If I hadn't let go…"

"Hey," Mike said. "You did your best, and I appreciate it."

"See, I told you he'd say that. But never mind that; we need to figure out how to bust him out of there," Micky said, trying to put his weight on the bars of stalagmites. They didn't budge. "Hey, Guys? I need a little help here."

Davy and Peter also grabbed the stalagmite and aided Micky as he now attempted to harness gravity to his advantage. Mike could only stare as they focused and struggled with their herculean effort.

"I think I felt it give a little!" Peter exclaimed.

"There isn't time for this!" the Texan said, snapping out of it. "You guys have to split before Zero gets back here!"

"Eh, let him get back," Micky said. "We've got some things to ask him, remember? We can get our answers _and_ order him to get you out of here!"

"No!" Mike insisted, prompting the others to pause and look up at him. "You don't understand! Zero is the Devil! That's why everything has been going so wrong for us—why we got separated and lost our memories!"

Stunned silence greeted him. It wasn't that they didn't believe him; it was more the shock of it all that had rendered them temporarily speechless.

"So when he said that if we signed the contract, all we'd have to do in exchange is stay with him, that means…" Davy began, and he trailed off, horrified.

"That's it," Mike said. "He's been working hard at making us miserable and desperate enough to sign our souls over to him!"

"And I almost _did_ sign…" Micky realized, gulping. "If Rue hadn't stopped me in time, I would've."

"But that still doesn't answer why the Devil would want to do this to us in the first place," Davy said.

"Something about the fact that we somehow humiliated him," Mike said. "I don't know all the details—he's trying to make this difficult."

Again, the quartet lapsed into silence.

"Well, that settles it," Peter said, after a moment. "Now we _have_ to get you out of there, Mike."

"You guys…"

"He's right," Davy said. "Now that we actually know what we're up against, we can't leave you at his mercy!"

"And you're going to end up the same way as me if he gets back before you get me out!" Mike reminded them.

"We're not leaving you, Mike!" the English boy insisted, almost furiously. "I blew my chance to save Micky earlier and now you, too—just because I couldn't find the strength! I'm not letting that happen again!"

A bark issued from another one of the tunnels, and the quartet now stared as Emerald came into view, as though using his natural tracking instincts to find out where Peter and the others had disappeared to. Behind him, Saph, Rue, and Diamond Jim followed, visibly agitated.

"How did they get here?" Peter wondered aloud.

"With all those tunnels, there must be multiple ways in and out. And Emerald must be part bloodhound," Micky observed. "But, hey! Rue can get you out of here, Mike! A few stalagmites shouldn't be a big deal for him!"

He whistled, and Rue now lumbered over; at Micky's direction, the young pachyderm wedged his little tusks under the stalagmite that had been and gave a few vigorous tosses of his head. This time, the structure noticeably moved, and, after a while, the top half of the stalagmite broke.

Saph went next, kicking with his hind legs to weaken and crack a few more of the stalagmites enough for Rue to break them more easily. They continued this until enough of the columns had been broken to allow Mike to escape.

The Texan's comrades hugged him as he stepped out of the now-breached prison; Diamond Jim flew back to him, warbling again.

" _Now_ let's get out of here," Micky said.

"We can't," Mike said, looking back at the other two cots. "We can't leave them at Zero's mercy, either."

The other three now noticed that there were two other people lying unconscious on the cots, but the light was too dim for them to see who they were without getting closer. They now moved to get closer, but Mike placed a hand on Davy's shoulder, causing him to stop—which caused the other two to stop, as well.

"Davy…" the Texan said, realizing that the English boy should probably hear the truth about his uncle before he saw him for himself.

He bit his lip as Davy looked up at him, questioningly. Mike sighed and hoped the fact that he was saying it would soften the blow somewhat.

"Let's talk."


	17. When a Man Should Stand and Fight

Mike had not wanted to be the one to tell Davy, yet he knew that it was his responsibility to do so. It was as though he could see the English boy break further, right in front of his eyes. The fact that he couldn't remember his uncle meant nothing; just as he felt for the friends he couldn't remember, it was the same for his uncle.

As painful as that was for Mike to see the expression on Davy's face, it was nothing comparing to being forced to watch Davy try in vain to awaken his comatose uncle; Mike knew it was useless, but he didn't have the heart to tell Davy that—and, besides that, he was sure that Davy knew it himself, and was just in denial. Perhaps the worst part about it all was the fact that he and the others could do nothing for their younger friend besides place their hands on his shoulders to try to give him moral support.

Mike finally spoke up again a bit later, reminding him that they needed to get out before Mr. Zero came back. Davy silently nodded, and Mike helped him carry his unconscious uncle over to Saph. It was also decided that none of them were callous enough to just leave Baby Face there, in spite of the trouble he had caused (though Peter pointed out that if it hadn't been for Baby Face causing trouble, the four of them wouldn't have reunited as quickly as they had), so they brought him along, with Rue carrying the comatose gangster on his back.

Davy didn't say a word as Saph led the way out—the cavern's tunnel sloped upward, and it was to everyone's surprise that they emerged in the stable of Hagglethorn Hall. If Creech had been astounded upon seeing them return, he was even more astounded—and horrified—to see what had become of the true Earl of Hagglethorn. Davy's uncle was soon in bed, with the doctor summoned to look after him. Baby Face had been kept in another room, with the police summoned to stand guard over him if and when he awoke—though that, however, seemed unlikely.

Davy was inside the room, looking after his uncle as the doctor examined him; Mike had insisted that the others wait in the corridor, and that this was not something they should be intruding on, no matter how close they were to Davy. That left them with little to do other than wait—and talk.

"There's more that your double told me, Mick," Mike said, after a while. "It has to do with all of us, though, and Davy needs to hear this, too."

"You think his uncle is going to be okay?" the brunet asked. "That doc's been in there for a while now."

"I don't know what he expects to find if… well… Mr. Zero is the one who put Davy's uncle in that coma," Peter said, shuddering slightly. He had not yet seen Mr. Zero since the first curse had been cast, but just the thought of him sent chills of fear down his spine, as though he had encountered him before—and that it had not been pretty (of course, how else could an encounter with the Devil have been?).

"That's what I'm thinking," Mike agreed. "No medicine in the world is going to help him. And I'm sure Davy knows that."

"Then, why is he…?" Micky trailed off, gesturing to the closed door.

"At this point, he just wants something to believe in," Mike said. "I understand that. I think we all can—Zero has led us all to believe that we were something we weren't. But Davy's been hit the worst with that; he was granted all this wealth and luxury—at the price of the freedom he loved so dearly—only to find out he has all this because the Devil gave it to him by putting his uncle out of the picture. He's probably feeling really lost and alone in there right now."

"But he's not lost and alone!" Peter pointed out. "He's got us! And he knows that we'd help him through anything—no matter what the cost!"

"…I think you just pointed out the problem," Mike said. "You heard him back on the beach—he wanted to find a way out of this that wouldn't put any of us in danger. I think he's scared of losing us."

"We all are!" Micky pointed out. "What can we do about it?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out," Mike said.

"Well, I know what I'm going to do," Peter declared, crossing to the door of the room.

"Where do you think you're going?" the Texan asked.

"I'm going to go talk to Davy."

"What if he wants to be left alone?" Micky asked.

"I don't think he really does," the blond said, and he headed inside, nearly walloping the doctor with the door, who had been on his way out.

"Pete…!" Micky began, but Mike gave him a look.

"Maybe he's onto something," he said, and he turned his attention to the doctor. "How's Davy's uncle?"

"A most baffling case," the doctor said. "There is no apparent cause for him to be comatose—not a mark or a wound on him."

The Texan and the Californian exchanged glances.

"Is he going to be okay, at least?" Micky asked.

The doctor could only shrug; he had never seen anything like it. Silently, he moved to Baby Face's room, preparing to see the same case there, as well.

"Well, _he_ was a big help," Mike said, sardonically, as he hoped that wasn't the reaction the doctor had shown to Davy, given the state he had been in.

Micky now crept to the door, pressing his ear against it.

"Mick!" the Texan scolded.

"What? We're all in this together, aren't we? All for one, one for all? No secrets between us, right?"

Mike couldn't find a proper retort to Micky's statement, so he pressed his ear to the door, as well.

Meanwhile, inside the room, Davy hadn't reacted to Peter's entrance at all. He sat silently in the armchair beside the bed.

"You okay?" Peter asked.

"I'm fine," the English boy said, quietly.

"No, you're not," the blond replied. "But you will be."

Davy shut his eyes at that.

"I know you think it's impossible to believe now," Peter went on, placing his hand on Davy's shoulder. "But we're so close to solving this whole thing and getting our memories back—and I have a feeling that when we do, your uncle will wake up."

"I wish I shared your optimism, Peter," Davy whispered. "But I don't. It seems that the closer we get, the more things go wrong—and now we know why, since the Devil himself is behind it all. If solving this thing means seeing you or Mike or Micky end up like Uncle Sedgwick here, then I don't think it's worth—"

"Stop that!" Peter ordered. "Don't you see what you're doing to yourself? You say that you want to be free, but you're letting yourself be a prisoner of your own fears—sealing yourself away from all of us, when just we want to help you through this and everything else! Mike's out there racking his brain trying to come up with a way to help you—to help all of us!"

"Okay, so let's say we find some sort of plan to get our memories back," Davy answered. "What happens when Zero tries to stop us and I find that, once again, I can't help you three when you need it most?"

"Look, I'm certain that was just a fluke," Peter insisted. "Once we get out memories back, I'll bet you'll remember all the times you helped all of us! And hey— you were the one who rescued us from that bizarre dream world we were in. We can do this, Davy—all of us, but only if it really is _all_ of us!"

"I know—I _know_!" the young Englishman replied. "But…" He trailed off, looking at his uncle again.

Peter understood.

"We don't want to lose you, either," he said. "But, right now, it feels that we are—not because of Zero, but because of what you're doing to yourself by trying to distance yourself from us. That's not what we want, and it's not what you want either, I'm sure."

That finally seemed to stir something in Davy; he turned to face the blond.

"It's not," he agreed. "I'm sorry, Peter."

"Group hug!" Micky announced, entering. Mike was behind him, rolling his eyes in amused exasperation.

But Davy now smiled at them and joined in the group hug.

"Well, now what you're in a better mood, we should probably discuss our next plan of action," Mike said.

"Yeah; you were saying back there that my double told you something?" Micky asked, looking to him.

"He said that he knew where the slab was—the slab that we need to put these medallions in," Mike replied, as the four of them pulled the four medallions from their pockets. "It's in the caverns—under some bar called the Purple Pelican."

"That solves one problem," Peter said. "All we need to do is find this place."

"And figure out what that power thing is that the back of the medallion mentioned," Davy added.

"Well, there's one more little matter to deal with before we go off in search of the Purple Pelican. We—and by that, I mean all four of us—need to be in this. There's no turning back," Mike said. "Davy's right about the risks; and since we did find each other, it can be seen as though we did beat Zero that way."

"That's true…" Peter said. "I mean, well… before, I felt like there was something missing, but that all went away when I found you guys again. But, even so… it won't be the same unless we have our real memories. And I want to know how it's supposed to be, so that means I'm in."

"I want to know how it's supposed to be, too," Micky said. "I don't want to believe I spent my whole life working for that ringmaster. Count me in, too."

"Well, Zero's worked hard at making my fake memories miserable," Mike added. "There's nothing for me here; any of my real memories have to be an improvement from the ones I have now. So that just leaves us with one more vote."

Davy looked down at his shoes as he felt three pairs of eyes on him. It was all on him, then.

"It's your decision, Davy," he heard Mike say. "We can't force you, especially since we know your reasons for not wanting to take any risks. And we won't go without you, either—not that it would do much good without all four medallions, anyway."

Davy sighed, and he now looked up, exchanging a glance with each of his friends—his best friends. Micky looked at him expectantly, while Mike gave him a look of understanding. And Peter gave him an encouraging nod.

"It's ironic; people would kill for a chance to live the life I'm living now," Davy said, at last. "It's no secret that I've benefitted the most from this curse. But, looking at it, I haven't really benefitted at all, have I? I was taken away from my best friends, given wealth and riches by the Devil at the expense of my uncle's life. And the worst part of it is that if I give in to my fears, not only will I be living a lie for the rest of my life, I'll be missing out on something very precious. I won't make that mistake."

Peter grinned.

"That's the way, Davy!" he encouraged, as Micky slapped him on the back

Mike nodded in approval

"Since we're all agreed, we're going to make it official—a vow," he said, and he exchanged a quick glance with Davy. "And I'm going to be holding all three of you—and myself—to this one."

"And this is one that I'm going to keep," Davy promised.

"Glad to hear that," Mike said, and he extended his hand out. "So, do we vow that we're going to see this thing through to the end—all four of us?"

"To the end," Peter agreed, placing his hand on top of Mike's.

"To the end," Micky echoed, placing his hand on top of Peter's.

Davy only hesitated for a split-second before adding his hand to the pile.

"To the end," he said.

"To the end," Mike repeated, confirming his own vow.

They stood like that for a moment, drawing strength from each other.

"Let's go get our memories back," Micky said, at last.

He, Mike, and Peter left the room, and Davy paused before leaving long enough to quietly say goodbye to his uncle, hoping that Peter was right when he had said that breaking the curse would allow him to awaken.

* * *

Mr. Zero didn't think it could've been possible to be more vexed with the Monkees than he already was. However, he found himself more furious than ever upon seeing that the stalagmite cage had been broken, and that Mike, Baby Face, and Uncle Sedgwick had all vanished.

What made it even more embarrassing was the fact that Zero had brought Dr. Mendoza down with him, having promised him Mike as the first of his guinea pigs for the Mendozium project.

"I am not amused!" the scientist declared, seeing the empty cage. "Twice now you have promised me guinea pigs if I followed your directions, and twice you, the Prince of Darkness, have failed!"

Mendoza's words wounded Zero's pride more than he cared to admit. His eyes bore into the empty prison.

"I will get you your guinea pigs," he said. "I wish to see those four at my mercy, remember?"

"Then why do they seem to be eluding you?"

"That will end," Zero vowed.

Mendoza didn't seem convinced, and he picked up the broken pieces of stalagmites from the ground to cover his silence.

"These stalagmites are far too thick to have been broken by those young men," the scientist declared.

"Of course…" Zero muttered. "They have a horse and an elephant between them; they must have used that to their advantage."

"And got the better of you in the process."

"That will be enough!" Zero said. "It would benefit you to remember that I am trying to help you with your research!"

Mendoza scoffed, but Zero didn't hear him; the Prince of Darkness suddenly seemed to get struck with an idea.

"I am not about to let them think they can get away from me so easily; nor will I let you think that they can undermine my power," Zero said. "They decide to use those memory-vessel animal friends of theirs to help them out of scrapes? They are not the only ones who can play that game!"

Dr. Mendoza watched with idle interest as Mr. Zero now crossed to the center of the chamber. The Prince of Darkness now clapped his hands.

"Malevolent!" he called. "Here, Malevolent!"

Dr. Mendoza had not been prepared for the cavern floor to split open—and certainly not prepared to see a large, black dog emerge from the fissure, snarling and growling as its glowing eyes scanned the area.

"What is that?" Dr. Mendoza asked, backing away from it.

"This is Malevolent," Mr. Zero said, smugly. "I made a deal with Hades once—millennia ago, of course; the details are unimportant, but part of the deal involved me being granted temporary custody of Cerberus for the purpose of breeding it. Malevolent is the merely end result of that."

"I see…" Mendoza said, regarding the monstrous hound with some amount of discomfort.

"I imagine that those four young men will be coming back to this maze of caverns in the hopes of finding the stone slab beneath the Purple Pelican. And when they do, Malevolent here will see to it that they end up exactly where we want them to be—whether or not they have their animals in tow with them."

"You appear to have overlooked one thing," Dr. Mendoza said. "What if they decide to go aboveground and enter the Purple Pelican that way?"

"You will be waiting there for them, Doctor," Zero purred. "And this time, I know that you will not let them slip through your fingers."

"What makes you so sure?"

"I will be waiting there for them, too," the Prince of Darkness said, and he now turned to the monstrous dog. "Very well, Malevolent. I want you to start patrolling these caverns and make sure that you lead any of those youngsters you see to me. Use force if you have to, but do try to bring them to me conscious, won't you? It just won't be as fun otherwise."

The dog let out a booming bark and bounded into the shadows. Only its glowing eyes remained visible.

Mr. Zero watched the dog leave, confident that, this time, the Monkees would not escape him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Malevolent is the creation of my longtime friend and cohort LuckyLadybug and was borrowed with her permission, though the Cerberus angle was my addition.


	18. Dreams, They Do Die Hard

Once again unaware of Zero's latest ploy against them, the Monkees proceeded to leave the castle. Creech saw them off, once again wishing them luck. They were quiet, but their resolves were strong as Rue and Saph carried them through the forest path once again, this time heading for Malibu. If they were tired, they didn't show it; their resolves seemed just as strong. They did draw a lot of stares, however—as would be expected from four young men riding a horse and an elephant through the streets.

"I suppose all we need to do is ask the next spectator where this Purple Pelican is," Davy said, after looking for it on their own didn't seem to prove fruitful.

"That'll be something…" Micky said, patting Rue on the top of his gray head. "Normally, people see the elephants _after_ they start drinking."

Peter got a chuckle out of that as Mike took the initiative and asked; once the Texan had the directions, he directed the way to the bar, which was hidden away in a far corner of the town—thankfully, it wasn't too far away.

Micky got off of Rue, now taking a peek inside the bar.

"Baby Face!" a woman exclaimed.

Micky let out a yelp as a blonde woman threw her arms around him.

"Oh, Baby Face!" she exclaimed. "Tony told me that something terrible had happened to you!"

"Gosh, Mick, you sure know how to make an entrance, don't you?" Peter said, as he, Mike, and Davy entered.

Micky gave them a helpless shrug as he looked up from the embrace by Baby Face's girlfriend.

"Hey, Lady, he can't stop and chat—his elephant is double-parked," Mike said, pulling Micky away from her.

"You mean, he's… not Baby Face…?" she began, and she suddenly looked away, disappointed. "I… I should've guessed it wasn't him… That black eye wouldn't have healed so quickly…"

"Sorry to disappoint you," Micky offered. "But if you know the guy, then maybe you can help us. He said something about a stone slab under this building; do you know anything about it?"

She shook her head.

"He didn't tell me anything—not since that weird guy in the suit started talking to him. He even stopped hanging around the rest of his gang after the failed robbery at Hagglethorn Hall."

She looked over at one of the tables. Tony Ferano was having a quiet drink, looking very somber.

"Tony's the one who saw him last; you might want to ask him," she said. "…But why are you asking about Baby Face, anyway? Do you know him?"

"I'm his long-lost… something," Micky bluffed. "You can see the family resemblance, right?"

"Sure…" she said, unconvinced, and she went on moping about Baby Face as the Monkees headed towards the table.

"Do you think we should tell her about what really happened to him?" Davy asked, in an undertone.

"Probably not," Mike said. "She'd take it hard—assuming she'd even believe it."

"Good point…"

Tony looked up as they approached his table, and he did an immediate double-take as he saw Micky.

"I'm not Baby Face," Micky quickly insisted. "But I understand that you're the one who saw him last."

"It's not really any of your business," Tony snarled, trying to cover up how upset he was. "But his fool head got too big, and he got in too deep. And he vanished—went into the back room with some suit running after him. I thought I saw some trapdoor or something; he must've gone down there. That's all I can tell you."

"That's all we need to know," Mike assured him.

"Pity that knowledge will do you no good," a voice spoke from behind them.

Tony Ferano paled, and the quartet whirled around, staring as both Dr. Mendoza and Mr. Zero stood, blocking their way. Mendoza had the hypodermic needle once again in his hand—and three more in his pocket.

"This time, you will not escape me," he said.

"Leave them alone!" Peter ordered. "I told you, I'm not going to let you hurt innocent people anymore—and especially not my friends!"

"Unfortunately for you, it is completely out of your hands, Peter," Mr. Zero said. "The four of you have eluded me long enough. It's time for the good doctor to progress with his experiment, and you aren't going to be able to stop him this time."

"Well, we can sure try!" Mike said.

A waiter was passing by with a tray of drinks. Mike swung his fist at the tray from below, which caused the tray to flip, drinks and all flying everywhere—including showering both Mendoza and Zero.

"Split!" the Texan ordered, as they recoiled.

What erupted there was nothing short of absolute chaos; the furious waiter had aimed a punch at Mike, who had fled at just such a moment that the blow missed him—and hit Mendoza, sending him crashing into the next table. The patrons now turned to attack him, which somehow escalated into drawing the surrounding tables into the brawl, too, as Mendoza pulled away, leaving others in the direct path of flying fists.

Mr. Zero made a grab for Davy, who quickly dove into a somersault to dodge; his foot tripped up Baby Face's girlfriend, who had hastily headed over with the intent to check on Tony. She crashed headlong into Mr. Zero, which allowed Micky and Peter to slip past him, and the four Monkees quickly hid themselves in the brawling crowd.

With a loud trumpet, Rue now made his entrance—taking out the bar's entire door frame and part of the surrounding wall in the process. Saph galloped in after him, followed by Emerald and Diamond Jim.

The bartender, in the meantime, just leaned against the counter and sighed as he watched the scene unfold. Brawls happened in the Purple Pelican on an almost daily basis—though he had to admit that adding animals into the mix was a new one on him.

Meanwhile, the Monkees continued to duck and dash through the crowd. Though it was true that they had lost Mendoza and Zero, they had, unfortunately, lost track of each other, as well. Calling out to each other wasn't helping—they could barely hear themselves over the crowd.

The crowd did part for Rue, however, who immediately sought out Micky, who was able to get out of the sea of fighting people and into the back room, where the elephant followed—subsequently taking out another door and surrounding wall in the process. Micky winced at the damage, but waved it off as he began to look for the entrance to the underground cavern that Tony had mentioned.

"I think I've got it!" he exclaimed, as he stamped his foot on what felt like a hollow area. He got down on his knees, finding the edge of the removable panel, and he soon unearthed the entrance by lifting a large trapdoor panel. The cavern sloped downward, into the labyrinth beneath the city.

"Gosharooney…" he breathed. "That's even big enough for you to fit through, Rue! That slab's gotta be down there!"

He tried to cross back to the main room of the bar, trying to find Mike, Davy, and Peter. He spotted Davy at last, who had now clambered onto Saph's back, and waved to him. It took a moment, but Davy spotted him and now tried to lead Saph that way, all the while calling for Mike and Peter.

Somewhere, in the crowd, a hand extended, waving a wool hat like a like a flag as though to signal that, yes, he had seen Davy. The English boy saw him and indicated the back room, and the hand now gave a thumbs-up to show that he understood.

Micky had seen the wool hat, as well.

"Great, now all we need to do is find Pete…"

Rue suddenly let out a loud, frightened trumpet. Micky would've jumped in fright, but before he could move, he felt something massive tackle him down, and then felt something sharp grab ahold of his leg, dragging him into the chamber.

Micky dared to turn around—and promptly let out a cry of fear as he saw the large, monstrous dog pulling him in. He grabbed for Rue's trunk, desperately crying out for Davy and Mike to stay back.

Malevolent roared, now bounding up to Micky's arm and grabbed him there, forcing him to let go of Rue's trunk. Rue swung his trunk at Malevolent, but the monstrous dog swiped at him with his sharp claws, forcing the pachyderm back momentarily—but that moment was all that Dr. Mendoza needed. He had managed to make it to the back room by way of Mr. Zero's teleportation, and he now seized Micky's wounded arm with one hand while holding the hypodermic needle with the other.

"No!" Micky cried, trying to pull away. Rue tried desperately to help him, but was once again forced back by Malevolent, whose strength, fed from darkness, was enough to rival the pachyderm's.

"Consider this payment for taking my assistant from me!" Mendoza hissed, injecting his concoction into Micky's wrist.

The brunet bit back the yell of pain. He did not want to beg. He would fight against this experiment, whatever it was!

"How long does it take to take effect?" Mr. Zero asked.

"Soon," the doctor promised. "He should be feeling the effects of the Mendozium within ten minutes."

"Good," Zero said. "Malevolent, take him below and keep him ready; we'll soon have the whole set."

Malevolent growled, pulling the still-struggling Micky into the shadows of the cavern. Rue followed, despite Malevolent's warning growls and swipes.

In the meantime, Peter had slipped his way through the crowd; he had been heading for the back room ever since seeing Rue head that way, knowing that Micky would've gone there, too. Unfortunately, he had a bad feeling that if _he_ , of all people, could figure that out so easily, Zero and Mendoza likely would, too.

It was to the blond's horror that he arrived in time to see Malevolent pull Micky into the cavern.

"Micky!" he cried, not even noticing Mendoza and Zero at first. But as he took a step inside the room, he quickly realized that they had just walked into a trap. And as Peter saw the empty hypodermic needle in Mendoza's hand, his worst fears were realized. "Not Micky… _Not_ _Micky_!"

Mendoza was taken aback as Peter now glared daggers at him.

"You're not getting away with this!" he vowed.

"He already has, Peter," Mr. Zero said, calmly. "And you're next."

Malevolent, as fast as he was powerful, now bounded from the cavern entrance like a black, furry blur of motion that sent Peter flying as they collided. Emerald bravely tried to engage in battle with the much larger dog, but he couldn't stand up to Malevolent's brute strength; Emerald was sent flying into the open cavern entrance, and as Peter moved to try to see if he was okay, Malevolent got the blond's shirt collar in his jaws. Dr. Mendoza now used that moment to grab the second hypodermic needle from his pocket and inject Peter with the Mendozium, as well. As Peter looked up at Mendoza with defiant rage as he clutched at his wrist, the doctor merely smiled back.

"You should be thanking me, Peter," he said. "You, the most useless person I have ever seen, will be able to aid in the progress of science. I have finally given you a purpose in this pathetic existence of yours!"

Mendoza's words stung, and Peter desperately tried to hold onto the fact that he knew, deep down, that they weren't true. Driven anew with this belief, he, like Micky, struggled against Malevolent, but he, too, was dragged down the cavern as Emerald did bite and scratch at the retreating Malevolent.

It was Davy who next rode into the trap, but he didn't know that Micky and Peter had already been taken by Malevolent; he and Saph arrived just after Peter and Malevolent vanished, and Davy wasted no time in ordering the roan to charge right at Mendoza and Zero—perhaps with the intent of breaking out the back wall.

Mendoza threw himself out of the way, and Zero hissed in fury. It would seem that the young Englishman, so full of drive, was going to be difficult.

Zero now raised a hand, concentrating, and Davy let out a yelp as both he and Saph were frozen in their tracks.

"What is this?!" Davy furiously demanded, as Zero raised his other hand, causing Davy to levitate off of the horse's back.

"This, my young friend, is you learning a painful lesson—that you are a mere mortal, and I am the Devil. I can do anything I wish, and there is nothing you can do to stand against my power!"

He turned his finger in a circle, flipping Davy upside-down in midair.

"Now, Doctor," Zero instructed.

Mendoza picked himself up, pulling the third needle from his pocket. Davy's eyes widened in horror as he approached, and he blindly swung his fists at him, which succeeded in knocking the needle out of his hand. The needle hit the floor, cracking upon impact, the Mendozium leaking out of the cylinder.

"Look what you've done!" the doctor cried.

"Oh, do send me the bill for the damages!" Davy spat back, still swinging his fists as Mr. Zero scowled.

"I had exactly four hypodermics of serum—what am I to do with that last guinea pig?" Mendoza asked Zero.

 _It_ _would_ _be Nesmith who would escape the serum_ , Zero thought to himself furiously. For a moment, he contemplated leaving Davy where he was and insisting upon using Mike as the third guinea pig, but then he paused. What better way to illustrate the Texan's failures at helping his friends than to watch them sign their souls over for all eternity before his eyes?

"I believe this has worked out for the best," he said to Mendoza. "Use the last dose of the serum on this one. Don't worry; I'll see to it that he doesn't destroy that one."

"Just you try to stop me!" Davy challenged, still levitated upside-down in midair. "After what you did to Uncle Sedgwick, I won't go down without a fight—"

"I did you a favor, you little ingrate!" Zero retorted. "I gave you wealth and a title—I made you a someone for once!"

"I didn't want wealth and a title!" Davy yelled, now swiping at the air with a greater drive; even Saph struggled to break free from the spell that was binding him. "I wanted my friends, and you were the one who took them from me! You didn't give me those riches to be charitable; you wanted revenge!"

"That's right," the Prince of Darkness hissed. "And now, I will get it."

Zero clenched his fist, and Davy gasped in pain; it was as though an invisible hand was squeezing him, pinning his arms to his sides.

Dr. Mendoza stepped forward now, and after making sure that Davy's fists weren't going to fly again, he pulled the last hypodermic needle from his lab coat pocket and injected the contents into Davy's wrist.

"Ten minutes," the doctor declared.

It was at this time that Mike finally broke free of the crowd, Diamond Jim squawking and ranting in his arms. The Texan stopped dead in his tracks at the sight that awaited him in the back room.

"Davy!" he cried, as Diamond Jim flew from his arms and frantically called to the still-immobile Saph. " _Davy_!"

Mr. Zero smirked now, and with a wave of his hand, he let the English boy fall; Mike rushed forward and caught him. Saph fell over, suddenly released from the spell, and Diamond Jim now softly called to the horse.

"You okay, Davy?" Mike asked.

"No…" the younger boy whispered, looking at the puncture mark on his wrist now that he was able to move again. "He got me."

"Not just him," Mr. Zero said. "I warned you, Michael. I warned you that it would only be a matter of time until you failed to help them!"

Mike could only stare. How…? How had everything gone so out of control in just a matter of minutes?!

"Micky and Peter, too?!" Davy cried, horrified.

"Hold it," Mike said, desperately trying to grasp at straws. "Davy, are you feeling alright, even after he gave you that stuff?"

"For the moment," the young Englishman said. "But he said it would take ten minutes for it to kick in."

"Maybe… maybe it won't work," Mike said. "I mean… it is just an experiment, after all…"

"Keep telling yourself that," the Prince of Darkness.

"It will not fail," Mendoza agreed. "I have spent years researching the formula; all I needed were test subjects."

"Of course it won't fail," Zero assured him, amused. "That was part of our agreement, after all."

Davy gave Mike a horrified look. And Mike found himself helpless and unable to reassure his friend.

"What… what exactly does this serum of yours do?" the Texan asked, resorting to placing his hand on Davy's shoulder.

"It puts the one it's administered on into a state of complete obedience," a female voice replied. "And it also blocks the brain from feeling or responding to emotions. It's revolutionary, when you think about it."

Dr. Mendoza's daughter now stood in the ruined doorway; behind her, a group of policemen were getting the crowd under some kind of relative order.

"What are you doing here?!" the doctor demanded. "You know that the district attorney has been keeping tabs on your movements!"

It was then that he noticed the handcuffs on his daughter's wrists. She gave him a sad smile.

"I'm sorry, Father," she said. "But I would rather have you in the hands of the district attorney than in those of Lucifer."

Mr. Zero hissed again in frustration as the D.A. now entered the room. He snapped his fingers, vanishing. Malevolent, who had just been ready to make another appearance, also vanished, too.

Dr. Mendoza was too distracted by his daughter's apparent betrayal to even notice he had gone.

"You, of all people, have always supported my endeavors!" he exclaimed, as he was now apprehended, as well.

"I still do, Father," she said. "But I want our experiments to be done on _our_ terms—not Lucifer's. We can pick up where we left off, Father—once we get out of this. You will have my full support then."

"Well, uh…" Mike said. "Until that time comes, do you think you could give us the antidote to this here serum of yours?"

"There is no antidote," Dr. Mendoza announced. "I hadn't had time to develop it yet! I wished to test the Mendozium first."

Davy went pale.

"Mike…!" he pleaded.

The D.A. stared at the mad scientist in disgust for a moment before turning to one of the policemen.

"Call an ambulance for that boy immediately," he ordered. "I want a series of toxicology tests done—"

"No, we have to find Micky and Peter first!" Davy cried. "He said they were injected with it before me!"

"Where are they?!" Mike demanded.

Dr. Mendoza stared pointedly at the open trapdoor. Already, policemen were heading down that way.

"Lucifer wanted them down there, in one of the caverns."

"He wanted partial control of the guinea pigs of my father's serum; that was the deal they made—the success of the serum in exchange for Lucifer's ability to control the guinea pigs," his daughter explained. "That's why he insisted on the guinea pigs obeying him in addition to Father; he wants your souls, and he must have decided that forcing you to obey him is the best way for him to do it."

"No!" Davy cried. "I won't obey him! I won't!"

"You will have no choice," the doctor said. "The serum blocks all ability of free thought—just blind obedience. I expect you have about five minutes left before the serum takes effect."

"It's gotta wear off sometime, right?" Mike asked, silently pleading for a yes. "It can't last forever!"

"I designed it to be permanent," the doctor said. "A one-time use will keep the subject in this state indefinitely. I am sorry I won't get to see the end result of this grand experiment; if I could only be granted five minutes to watch…"

The D.A. looked absolutely disgusted.

"Get them both out of here," he ordered. "And interrogate him about the serum's contents. Get back to his lab and confiscate a sample for analysis." He turned to Mike and Davy. "We'll have the best lab technicians working on it. They will find an antidote; just hang in there."

Davy didn't reply; he just clung to Mike's arm, trembling.

"Davy…" Mike said. "Davy, you can't just give in. There're still things that can happen. For one thing, Zero ran out on him just now; that might void the contract—in which case, the thing might not work."

He was trying to convince himself of the same thing; Zero's taunts were ringing in his ears. He _had_ failed them. He had failed Davy—his best friend who had saved his life from that monster plant.

He pulled the younger boy into a hug again, silently cursing himself for this. If he hadn't given the order to split up back in the other room… If they had just stayed together, this might not have happened at all.

Davy returned the hug, still grateful that he could feel and think freely—for the time being, anyway.

"Mike," he said. "Just in case they're not able to find some way to reverse this serum… I just want to thank you for everything you've done for me—even all of the things I can't remember."

"Don't talk like that!" Mike pleaded. "This… this isn't over yet! I need you to keep fighting, okay? If you can just hold on as long as you can against that stuff, we'll all get through this. And we'd better find Pete and Mick; we'll need to give them a pep talk to keep fighting, too."

Davy managed a brave nod. While the police were busy with trying to gather the evidence in the room, the boys got on Saph—as did Diamond Jim—and Davy led the horse down the cavern entrance.

 _Just hold on, Guys_ , Mike silently transmitted to them as he continued to keep a hand on Davy's shoulder. _If we can just get back together, I know we'll have a better chance of getting through this! We beat Zero once before, and we can do it again; we just have to approach this as a team!_

He watched Davy give a slight shudder and hoped that his words weren't empty ones.


	19. There is No Truth You Cannot Maim

Mike and Davy both called out for Micky and Peter as Saph headed further down the tunnel.

"No answer…" Davy whispered. "What if…?"

"Don't think like that," Mike instructed, and he called out to them again and again, willing to do so until he either found them or his voice gave out.

They didn't answer, but, after a few more minutes, Mike could hear the unmistakable sound of an elephant.

"It's Rue!" Mike exclaimed. "We're close by!"

And now Davy didn't reply; he continued to lead the horse on in silence, and Mike's blood ran cold in his veins.

"Davy…!"

"I heard you," the English boy replied, but his voice was noticeably flat, all emotion and feeling in it rapidly waning. "Yes, we are close."

Saph halted in his tracks, as though concerned. And Mike now grabbed Davy's shoulder and turned him around slightly so that he could see his face. The English boy's eyes had an all-too-noticeable glaze over them—one that had not been there minutes ago—as he looked back at Mike, blankly.

"Davy, no!" the Texan pleaded, knowing that his hopes had been in vain and that the Mendozium was taking effect. "Davy, you can't give up now! You can't let that stuff beat you!"

He seized the boy's other shoulder with his other hand.

"Come on, Tiny," Mike encouraged him. "If not for yourself, then… fight for your old buddy."

Davy blinked a couple times, as though Mike's words were, somehow, getting through to him.

"Stay with me," the Texan pleaded. "I'm sorry I wasn't able to help you—that my dumb idea got you and the others into this. But I can't fight Zero on my own; we need to stick together. We made a vow back there, remember?"

"…I… remember…"

"Of course you do," Mike said, relieved to be getting a response. "So you're going to keep fighting, right?"

"…Will you help me?"

"Do you even have to ask?" the Texan answered. "You and I go back a long way; just because we can't remember it doesn't mean that it isn't true. And I also know that I could never not help you—even if you didn't think you needed it."

Davy managed a smile, clearly fighting to stay in control of his consciousness.

"I know it, too," he said.

He now encouraged the horse to move forward. Mike kept talking to him as they rose, hoping that the sound of his voice would serve as some sort of mental anchor for the English boy's mind to hold onto.

"I think I heard Rue over that… way…" the Texan trailed off as he saw a pair of red, glowing eyes up ahead.

Saph now froze again, this time, in fear as Malevolent let out a low, vicious growl at the party. The growl turned into a snarl as the eyes suddenly came at them as Malevolent charged in the darkness.

"Watch out!" Davy cried.

Saph made a break to the right as Malevolent lunged at them, but the roan wasn't fast enough; the monstrous dog sideswiped Mike, knocking him off the horse. Malevolent was soon bearing down on the Texan, ready to grab him in his jaws and drag him off to Mr. Zero when Davy suddenly leaped from Saph's back and onto Malevolent's, locking an arm around the beast's throat and trying to administer a chokehold on him.

"Davy!" Mike exclaimed. "Davy, no!"

But the English boy only responded by locking his other arm around Malevolent's neck and tightening his grip. He tried to speak, but couldn't; it took every ounce of his strength just to hold on.

The beast now let out a choked growl before repeatedly trying to shake Davy off. When that failed, he bounded back down the tunnel he had come from, Davy still holding onto his neck, as though hoping he could get the monster to pass out if he kept at it. Saph whinnied and galloped after them as Mike got to his feet.

"Davy, let go of him!" he pleaded, as he ran after them, as well, with Diamond Jim by his side.

But Davy continued to hold on; it this had been a rodeo, he would've wowed the crowd. And despite the weight on his back, Malevolent was still faster; first he had vanished, and then Saph was out of sight.

And it was then the chill ran down Mike's spine. He had been successful at helping Davy hold off the influence of the Mendozium; Mr. Zero had probably sent that thing to separate them so that Davy couldn't keep on fighting!

Mike quickened his pace as he ran; in his worry, it took him a long time to realize that there was another presence in the tunnel besides himself and Diamond Jim. A rustling sound finally caught his attention, and that was when he saw a large, thorn-covered vine slither past by the torchlight.

That plant… he had forgotten about that plant! Davy had succeeded in chasing it off that night, but now it was back. And, ten to one, it would be after Davy just to spite him.

At last, the tunnel ended, giving way to a large chamber. It was here that Mike stopped; in the back of the chamber, alit with the light of more torches, was a rectangular stone slab about three feet tall. Four figures were carved in each of the corners of the stone, and beside each of the figures was a small, circular indentation—each the size of the medallions that they had found earlier that day in the beachhouse.

"That's it…" Mike breathed.

But the good feeling didn't last. Why had he been led here—to the one thing that could break this curse? The fact that the vines were heading in this direction seemed to scream that this was a trap.

Cautiously, Mike took a few steps forward. As his eyes adjusted to the new level of lighting, he noticed the short, unconscious figure on the ground. The silhouette of a horse paced nearby, whinnying in distress, and Diamond Jim flew over to him, warbling in a vain attempt to console Saph. And the Texan kept staring at the still figure.

"Davy!?" Mike exclaimed.

He didn't care about whether this was a trap or not now; he knelt by younger friend's side. In half a second after that, it was then that he realized that Davy _wasn't_ unconscious at all—his eyes were open, but now fully glazed and unfocused. The English boy looked up at Mike, but there was no expression on his face as he did so; Davy might as well have been looking right through him.

"No…" Mike whispered, his heart sinking. "Davy… Davy, you still have to be in there! You can't just…"

He trailed off as he heard footsteps coming towards them. Looking up, it was all Mike could do to stop himself from crying out in despair; Micky and Peter were walking towards him, their expressions blank and eyes glazed—Peter's mouth was even partly open, his face otherwise as expressionless as Davy and Micky's. Rue and Emerald were behind them, looking as agitated as Saph was.

Davy now stood up, standing with Micky and Peter as Mike continued to kneel, looking up at the three of them.

"I'm sorry," the Texan whispered. "I'm so sorry."

What had happened?! How had he allowed this to happen?! He should have been looking after them, and he had failed them; even if Mr. Zero was a liar and a trickster, he was right about that.

Mike got to his feet, his throat tightening just to speak.

"Guys…" he said, softly. "Guys, I promise I'll get you out of this. They're going to analyze that stuff and get you an antidote, and I'll look after you until then, okay? We're… we're so close…" He indicated the stone slab. "All we need to do is put the medallions we found in there, and we'll get our memories back."

A thought suddenly occurred to him. Maybe, just maybe, if they put the medallions in the slab now, getting their memories back might help give them the strength to better fight against the Mendozium's influence.

"Hey, why don't we get our memories back right now?" Mike offered. He tried to smile, but he couldn't manage it—not with the blank looks he was receiving. "Come on, Guys… I know you can hear me." He pulled his medallion out of his pocket. "These are the keys, remember?"

The other three didn't move at first, but then, slowly, Davy reached into his pocket and pulled out his medallion. Micky and Peter both followed suit, and Mike let out a sigh of slight relief.

"Over here!" he exclaimed, heading for the slab. "This is gonna work, Guys; I know it! This _has_ to work!"

He stopped halfway once he realized that they weren't following him; they continued to stand where they were, staring unblinkingly at him. Micky eventually pointed to a point ahead of Mike after a moment. The Texan turned back and froze, seeing that the thorn-filled vines were wrapping tightly around the stone slab, and only getting tighter. And then he understood, his eyes widening in horror.

"He's trying to use that plant to destroy the slab!" he yelled. "Guys, let's go; we have to put the medallions in before that slab breaks!"

Saph and Rue now tried nudging Davy and Micky towards the slab as Emerald tried to tug Peter along by holding his shoelaces in his mouth. Diamond Jim paced the ground near where Mike was standing, waiting, but both the boy and his prairie chicken quickly realized that not even the persuading on the part of the animals was convincing the other three to head in that direction.

"Please!" Mike pleaded. "I know you guys are strong enough to resist that serum! You have to trust me on this!"

"And why should they, Michael?" Mr. Zero's voice spoke from the shadows of the chamber. "You are the reason why the three of them are in this pitiful state."

The words stung—all the more because Mike believed them to be true. It had been his judgment call to come here and then to split up when Zero and Mendoza had threatened them. Mike didn't deny that the blame fell on him.

"That's why I have to make it right," he said, at last. "And that's exactly what I'm going to do."

"It's a little late for that, I'm afraid…" Mr. Zero said, stepping out into the torchlight with a smug look on his face. "Why else are they refusing to listen to you? They no longer trust you."

For one horrible moment, Mike believed him before recalling how Davy had fully snapped out of the Mendozium's influence to save him from Malevolent; it had been a dangerous, selfless act that had resulted in him sacrificing the one thing Mike knew Davy cherished the most: his freedom. Davy would never have done that for someone he didn't care for or trust.

"They're not listening to me because you had that crazy quack use them for his experiments!" the Texan retorted, at last.

"So I did. However, I didn't see you try to stop him. You were only separated from them because—"

"Yeah, I know," Mike said. "Splitting up seemed like a good idea at the time… I was only trying to look out for them!"

Mr. Zero laughed at this; it was a most unsettling sound.

"Well, Michael, you do know what they say about my domain, don't you?" he taunted. "The road to it is paved with good intentions!"

Mike paled.

"I'm not going… _there_ ," he stated.

"Oh, you're not," Mr. Zero assured him. "It would seem you are a man who cannot be tempted. You don't seek money or glory. You are selfless and put yourself last while you care for others. You refused to sign my contracts. No, Michael; it would be useless to try to drag you there."

Those words provided no comfort to Mike, however; after their last encounter and Zero's insistence that he would see Mike desperate enough to sign his soul over, it was a cinch that Zero wasn't flattering him for any good reason.

And sure enough, Mike's blood ran cold again as Zero turned towards his three silent comrades.

" _Them_ , on the other hand…"

"No…" Mike said, going pale. " _No_!"

"Well, they're halfway there already, aren't they?" Zero mused. "Why, they obey my every word and whim!"

"They can't help it!"

"Bah, the details are unimportant. What matters is that I have three obedient servants; they listen to me without question!"

"You leave them out of this!"

"But I cannot do that, Michael. They are very much a part of this. Observe…" Mr. Zero turned to the others and now beckoned Davy over to him. "David, come here!"

Davy stepped forward, and Saph caught the boy's shirt sleeve between his teeth, trying to stop him.

"Micky, Peter… See to it that animal lets him go."

Micky and Peter moved to tug Davy's sleeve free from the protesting horse. Rue and Emerald tried to stop them, but Mr. Zero snapped his fingers again, and Malevolent appeared from the shadows again, attacking and driving the animals back. With his sleeve free, Davy walked over to Zero, silently.

"There, you see?" Zero asked, looking back to Mike with an expression even more smug than before. "He will do anything I ask him to do. Though it was true that he saved you from Malevolent back there, if I gave him the order to do so now, he would help the beast finish you off."

He turned back to Davy.

"David, tell Michael that you wish to stay with me now."

"I wish to stay with him," the English boy replied, mechanically.

"He doesn't mean that!" Mike retorted. "You're putting words in his mouth—things that he'd never say! Davy would never give up his freedom like that—and certainly not to the Devil!"

"What he would want is no longer relevant. He no longer knows what he would want," Zero replied, clearly enjoying this. "But I do know that he would make a nice addition to my collection. I know Veran wanted to borrow him herself. And with a face like his, well… untold numbers will follow him—and he will lead them straight to me. Yes, this face will bring me plenty of… customers."

Zero placed his fingers under Davy's chin, tilting the boy's head up so that he would be looking directly at him.

But Davy's eyes tried not to follow; in fact, his glazed gaze seemed to look back at Mike, as though silently pleading. And, unbidden, Davy's words from just minutes earlier echoed in Mike's brain.

"… _Will you help me?_ "

That did it. Mike snapped.

"Get your hands off of him!" he yelled, suddenly shoving Zero away from Davy. "You do that again to him or to Micky and Peter, I'll—"

"You'll what?" Zero challenged. "For one thing, they don't wish to have your assistance anymore. And even if they did, what could you possibly do to help them? Nothing you've done for them has worked before. And nothing you can think of can help them. And do you know why, Michael?"

Mike just glared back, defiant.

And now it was Zero's turn to lose his cool; he'd had more than enough of Mike's tenacity! He aimed his hand at Mike, and the Texan let out a cry as he found himself levitated into the air, just as Davy had been earlier.

"I will tell you why," Zero hissed. "It is because you are a foolish mortal who dared to think he could get the better of the Prince of Darkness!"

"I didn't want to get the better of anyone!" Mike protested. "I just wanted to help my friends!"

Zero scowled, and he clenched his hand into a fist, and it was Mike's turned to feel the invisible hand squeezing him. He cringed in pain. But the hurt he felt was nothing compared to the pain of seeing Davy, Micky, and Peter looking upon his plight with such apathetic expressions.

"I have news for you, Michael," Mr. Zero said, watching as the despair grew on his face. "You failed."


	20. The Key that Fits a Million Locks

_Failed_.

The word echoed through Mike's very soul, succeeding in eclipsing the pain he felt from Zero's levitation spell.

"I'm sorry…" he said, shutting his eyes against the pain—both physical and mental. "I tried my best…"

"Your best…" Zero scoffed. "Your best was worthless! And it is too late for apologies! Apologies will not save your friends from an eternity with me! We may as well get this over with."

Mike's eyes snapped open in time to see Mr. Zero beckon Peter and Micky over to where Davy was standing beside him. The animals once again tried to rush forward to stop them, but found themselves driven back by Malevolent.

Zero snapped his fingers, and three contracts appeared in the hand that wasn't levitating Mike.

"Step forward, Boys, and sign these contracts," he ordered.

"NO!" Mike screamed. He stretched his arms out towards his three companions, but Zero merely levitated him higher. Mike's fingertips only brushed past Peter's hair, and the blond didn't even look up. "You can't do this to them! They're not in their right minds; how does this even count?! This isn't fair!"

"I'll tell you the same thing I told Veran," Mr. Zero said, calmly. "Do I look like one who follows rules? Do I even have to? Of course it isn't fair! I _exist_ to make things unfair! You chose to stand against the wrong being, Michael. And now your friends will pay the price for it."

Zero handed a pen to each of the other three.

"Just sign on the dotted lines, Boys."

"Stop!" Mike cried, his voice nothing short of agonized. " _Stop_! Don't do this to them! Leave them alone!"

"Why, Michael… Could that be _desperation_ I hear in your voice?" Mr. Zero asked, pulling the contracts just out of reach of Davy, Micky, and Peter.

Mike's heart hammered in his chest as he realized what Zero's true intentions had been all along.

"Well, Michael?"

The Texan looked to his three friends as they looked up at him again, their faces still expressionless.

"Yes," he sighed. "Yes, that is desperation you hear."

The Prince of Darkness smirked smugly.

"Didn't I tell you that I would find your weak points, Michael? I made the mistake of thinking that your weak points were somewhere within you, as they are for most of the human race; I neglected to realize that your selflessness would mean that your weak points would be other people—specifically, the people whom you seemed to consider as your friends. And now I have you right where I want you."

He waved his hand, and Mike crashed to the cavern floor. Shakily, he got back to his feet, turning to the others.

"It's going to be okay," he promised to them, softly. "You're going to get out of this; I swear…"

"There is only one way for them to get out of this, Michael," Zero said. "And I think you know what that is, don't you?"

Mike looked back to Zero, a lump forming in his throat as the three contracts in Zero's hand disappeared and were replaced by a single one.

"Sign on the dotted line, Michael," he said. "And I will release them from the influence of the Mendozium, and I will grant them back both their free wills _and_ their true memories. They will remember you—and appreciate your sacrifice, I'm sure." He also knew that the other Monkees would undoubtedly demand to be with Mike once they were free—after which point, Zero could easily get them to sign of their own volition—and then Zero could take advantage of any and all loopholes to keep them permanently separated from each other for all eternity, his revenge complete.

"So, they'll be free. What… what'll happen to me?" Mike asked, though he knew the answer.

"Well, you will be with me. You won't ever see them again, but I might be willing to restore your memories, as well. In fact, I will."

"Why? So I can be forced to think about what I lost?"

Mr. Zero smirked.

"If you don't like it, we can go back to my original plan. Boys—"

"No!" Mike said. "I'll… I'll do it. For them."

There was a pause, where nobody moved or spoke. A cracking sound came from the slab as the thorn-covered vines increased the pressure on the stone. Diamond Jim let out a distress call, but his attempts to get to Mike were once again thwarted by Malevolent.

"So… let them go," Mike ordered.

Zero laughed.

"Oh, you presumptuous fool; that isn't how it works! You sign the contract that states you will stay with me, and only then are they released! The contract is binding to both of us, Michael. I can assure you that they will be free." _For the moment, anyway. What happens after that is predictable enough_ … "Now hurry up! That stone is liable to break at any moment, and that will make it too late to unlock their memories! I will then have to proceed with my original plan!"

"Yes… Yes, I know, but… Can't I just…? I mean, if I'm never going to see them again, can't I say goodbye to them?"

Mr. Zero let out a mock sigh, checking his pocket watch.

"Make it quick—not that they'll be able to appreciate what you're going to say without their emotions, of course."

"They'll still hear it," Mike said, walking over to his three silent friends. "That's enough for me."

He tried his best to swallow the lump in his throat as he looked into their glazed eyes.

"Guys," he said, softly. "I… I know we vowed that we'd see this thing through to the end. Well, it looks like this _is_ the end—for me, at least. I got you three into this, and I don't mind paying this price to get you out of it."

He stepped in front of the blond, drawing him into a hug.

"Pete," he said, softly. "Don't ever let anyone convince you that you're slow, okay? It's like Micky said—you think with your heart first. Don't… don't ever stop doing that just because you think people will think you're smarter because of that. If they can't see past that, then they're not worth impressing anyway."

He released Peter from the hug and gently squeezed his shoulder before stepping in front of Micky and hugging him.

"Mick… You keep charging on ahead with that zest for life you've always got. You're so full of life and energy—and you're able to transfer that to everyone around. And you've got the ability to make people laugh—don't ever lose that, even after… what happens here. And don't ever believe what that ringmaster said—or anyone like him. You've got talent, and don't you ever forget it."

He squeezed the brunet's shoulder, as well, as he let him go, and Mike now walked over to the young Englishman.

"Davy…" Mike's voice cracked as he pulled him into a hug next. "…I …I really don't know what to say to you, Tiny. I'm guessing that you felt the same thing I did—that you and I go back a ways, like Mick and Pete." He sighed. "You're a rare free spirit, Davy. I hope that you can keep staying that way. Don't ever let anything tie you down—and that includes missing me."

He continued to hug Davy close, and then pulled Micky and Peter back into a group hug again.

"Please…" he whispered to them. "Don't blame yourselves when you get your wills and memories back. I did this on my own, and I don't regret it…" His throat tightened. He did not want to leave them, yet he knew he had to save them at any cost.

"It's time, Michael," Mr. Zero said.

Mike gave one last goodbye hug to his three friends.

"I love you all so much," he whispered. "I don't need my memories to know that. And I'm sure you don't, either. So don't you ever forget it."

He let them go and, slowly, backed away from them. They continued to stare back at Mike, unblinking, but Mike thought he saw traces of sadness in their otherwise expressionless eyes. But, perhaps, it was just Mike's own sadness that he was just projecting out to them, and nothing more.

"Okay," the Texan said, turning back to face Mr. Zero with a determined expression. "I'm yours."

"It's not going to be that simple, Michael," Zero said, smirking. "I want to see you do this properly. You're going to be serving me for eternity; I expect fealty from you."

"What do you mean?" Mike asked. "Look, can't we just get this over with?"

"No, we can't," Zero said. "You see, just like you made a vow, I, too, made one. I would see you at my feet."

"You've gotta be kidding…" Mike said.

"I think not. Kneel."

"What?"

"Kneel before me—now. And I want you to make a vow to me, just as you made a vow to them."

"Now, wait just a second!" Mike protested. "This wasn't part of the deal! And I'm not going to kneel and make any vows to you! My vows—my words—aren't something I give to just anyone! And I don't want my friends to see me like that! I'm not going to grovel in front of you!"

"Oh, yes you are," Zero hissed. "When I order a mortal to kneel before me, he _will_ kneel, whether he wants to or not!"

He raised his hand again, only this time, instead of making Mike levitate, he forced the Texan to his knees. Zero's fingers curled, and Mike let out a cry as his upper body bent forward into a bow.

"Yes, this is much better," Zero mused. He snapped his fingers, and the contract and pen appeared in front of Mike's hands. "You know what to do with those, Michael. Sign it, before I decide that I'd rather have three souls instead of just yours. And then I expect a vow from you."

Mike's face burned red, furious at being put into this position by Zero when he would never have been willing to do so. And, worst of all, was this to be the last that his dearest friends would see of him—on his knees before the Devil, broken and defeated only because he had wanted to save them?

Mike cringed again as he picked up the pen. His only regret was that this was going to be the way he went out—on his knees. But he knew that he would never allow his companions to suffer this fate in his place—no matter what waited for him in the Netherworld. It would be worth it.

It was as he lowered the tip of the pen to the paper that he heard the almost inaudible whispers behind him.

"…Mike…"

"…Please…"

"…Don't do it…"

The Texan froze, hardly daring to believe his ears. Mr. Zero didn't react; he must not have heard it, or Mike had just imagined it.

He sighed, deeply, and moved to return the pen to the paper when, suddenly, he felt three sets of hands on his arms.

"What is this?!" he heard Zero demand, as Mike was pulled to his feet.

Mike wordlessly looked around; Micky and Peter had grabbed his left arm, and Davy had grabbed his right arm, all of them pulling against the force of Zero's spell that had been trying to keep Mike down.

"Guys…?" he asked, stunned.

Zero seemed just as stunned, in addition to unsettled.

"This… this is impossible!" he hissed. "The serum—it was meant to be permanent! And I was to have complete control over them!"

Micky, Peter, and Davy all glared back at Zero while continuing to hold onto Mike's arms.

"We won't let you take him," Davy said, quietly.

"He's sticking with us," Micky added.

"We're a package deal," Peter finished.

Mike could only stare, hardly daring to believe it, as the glazed expressions across his companions' features had now lessened considerably.

"Are… are you guys really…?"

His words got lost in his throat again as his friends looked him in the eyes, and it became evident that, somehow, they were, slowly but surely, snapping out of the influence of the Mendozium.

"Are you okay, Mike?" Davy whispered.

The Texan now drew them all in a group hug again, not sure what had just happened, but grateful to it all the same.

"I am now," he assured them. "You… you three keep fighting against that serum; I know you can do it!"

"Don't sign!" Peter begged him. "Please… don't sign that contract!"

"You can't let him win!" Micky added, as Davy nodded in agreement.

"I won't," Mike promised. "You can bet I won't!" He now glared at Zero, still holding onto his friends. "You hear that?!"

Zero scowled.

"I don't need your contracts and deals to help them!" Mike said, snapping the pen he was holding into two pieces. He furiously threw the pieces to the ground. "I can't believe I was nearly taken in by another one of your tricks! I _can_ help my friends—just like they found a way to help me! You know, I'll bet there's a reason why every single attempt you made to split us up just ended up falling to pieces. I don't know what it is, but I do know one thing: y _ou're_ the one who's failed, Zero—not me! I've got my friends; even if I don't have my memories, they're all I need. So you won't be getting my vows of fealty. And you certainly won't be getting me—or any of us!"

He pulled his medallion back out of his pocket and turned to the others, looking over them with a determined expression.

"But it'd be nice to have our memories back, right, Guys? I mean, we made that vow to keep at it until the end. And since it seems that it's not the end for me after all, I say we finish what we started!"

He looked back to his comrades, his heart practically soaring to see their eyes and expressions clear, looking back at him with determination and joy as they pulled their own medallions out of their pockets again, as well.

"Come on; let's go do this before that slab breaks," Mike said.

"I'm all for that!" Micky grinned. "Ready… _charge_!"

They headed for the stone slab; Zero's attempts to try to use his levitation spell again fell flat as they quickly ran out of range.

"Malevolent!" Zero ordered. "Stop them!"

The monstrous dog turned to follow his master's order, but that was all that the other animals needed. Diamond Jim launched himself at the beast's head, furiously scratching at Malevolent's face with his talons. Malevolent roared, shaking his head to try to force the fowl off, but Rue, Saph, and Emerald now charged at the demonic dog, as well, determined to overpower him this time.

The Monkees quickly ducked to the side as Emerald sunk his teeth into Malevolent's shoulder; both Emerald and Diamond Jim cleared away from Malevolent just as Saph and Rue arrived. Saph kicked his rear hooves at Malevolent, sending him flying towards Rue, who headbutted the beast into the wall near where the Monkees had been hiding. Mike let out a low whistle as Diamond Jim now flew across the cavern to resume relentlessly scratching at Malevolent's face.

"No!" Zero roared.

"Yeah!" Micky countered.

"Come on, Mick!" Mike ordered.

They headed for the slab as the animals continued the battle, hoping that the brawl would keep them out of Mr. Zero's line of sight long enough for them to finish their task. The quartet winced as they got close enough to see a pair of large cracks running through the stone—one horizontally, and one vertically, diving it into four quarters, with each quarter holding one of the insertion points for the four medallions. Mike now stopped, prompting the others to do so, as well.

"Will putting the medallions in still work?" Peter asked, looking worried at the cracked stone.

"It should," Mike said. "I think we'd only be in trouble if the thing broke all the way through."

"Yeah, maybe the cracks give it character or something?" Micky asked, giving a nervous chuckle.

"Character or not, those vines aren't about to let up, though; that stone will break if we don't do something quickly," Davy said, checking his pockets in the hopes that, somehow, he had another table knife with him to use against the plant like he had used the other night. Of course, they were empty.

"Then we'd better get going before it's too late," Peter said, as he and Micky took a few more steps forward.

"Hold it!" Mike and Davy exclaimed in unison.

"We gotta approach that thing carefully," Mike said. "That plant is a killer if it gets those tendrils on you. I mean, if it can do that to slab of stone that quickly, can you imagine what it can do to a person?"

"No need to imagine," Zero snarled. "I can demonstrate it for you!"

Several small holes split open from the ground of the cavern, and several more thorn-covered vines emerged from the holes. A large hole also split the floor, and the large bud rose from the depths of the ground. Without a doubt, it was the same plant; there was a scar on one of the segments of the bud from where Davy had stabbed it. But the bud was now much larger, and it quickly opened to reveal a gnarled flower.

"Is that a carnivorous plant?!" Peter exclaimed.

"In a sense," Zero said, casually amused at Peter's horror. "It doesn't feed off of meat, but it does feed off of life energy. And it seems to be determined to take back the prey it lost a few nights ago."

Sure enough, the vines, despite initially thrashing everywhere, quickly focused their attention on Mike, ensnaring his ankles so that he fell over, just like before. The other tendrils immediately wrapped themselves around him as his friends rushed forward to aid him, and the all-too-familiar tightening sensation around his chest returned to the Texan as he struggled to catch his breath.

"Mike!" Davy cried, his face losing all color as the horror and helplessness of that night returning to him once again; he seized the Texan's hand, which still clutched at the medallion. " _Mike_!"

"Just… just hang in there, Mike; we'll get you outta there!" Micky promised, searching his pockets in vain for a knife, as well, but also coming up empty. "We won't let you down—no more than you ever could to us!"

"There's got to be a way!" Peter agreed.

"Empty words in a vain attempt to comfort you," Zero said, dully. "It would seem, Michael, that you have reached the end, after all. You see, if I cannot have you, then I have no intention of letting your friends have you, either."

The animals now halted their battle with Malevolent to try to move to help Mike, but it was now Malevolent's turn to attack them while their backs were turned, preventing them from reaching him.

"It's not the way I had envisioned my revenge playing out," Mr. Zero admitted, smirking as the four Monkees looked to him in horror. "But I'll take it. Very well, Michael; in your last moments, take comfort knowing that you did succeed in rescuing your friends as you desired. And then lament the fact that they will still have to go on without you."


	21. You and I and Magic Memories

Davy furiously blinked back his tears as Mr. Zero taunted them.

"We're not about to give up on Mike that easily!" he yelled. "You should know that by now!"

"And you should know when to quit!" the Prince of Darkness countered. "You have no means by which to get the plant to free him this time! And it's only a matter of time before the plant drains away all of his life energy."

"Then we'll find the means to stop it before it does," Micky vowed. He was trying to use his teeth to tear into one of the tendrils; this accomplished nothing, save for him getting a small cut on the lip from one of the thorns. He bit back a curse, still trying to rip them with his bare hands. But the plant, having grown, had thicker, stronger vines than it had the other night, and Micky wasn't making any headway, not even when Peter and Davy both tried to lend their strength, as well.

"Of course… there is _one_ way to get him free before his time runs out," Mr. Zero said, idly, as three contracts appeared in his hands again.

"Don't even think about it," Mike hissed, struggling against the vines just to breathe. "Please… Guys, don't…"

"We won't," Peter promised him. "You got us free from the Mendozium without signing anything; we can get you out of here, too."

There was another cracking sound coming from the slab, which caused all four of them to look in that direction. The two cracks had grown in width even more, each of the four pieces starting to tremble independently of the others, as though there was very little holding the slab together.

"Well, this doesn't look good for you, does it?" Zero mused. "Not only are you about to lose your leader, you're about to lose the one chance you have at unlocking your memories. And once the stone breaks, Malevolent can finally dispose of those pests."

He glared in the direction of the animals as Malevolent continued to force the back from the Monkees.

"What did they ever do to you?" Peter asked, baffled. "Come to think of it, what did _we_ ever do to you?"

"The details of what you did are of no importance," Zero said. "This is all to prove that no mortal can get away with undermining my power. As for them… Well, the slab is but the key that was to unlock your memories—and it also protects those animals from harm. _They_ are the vessels that hold your memories—and believe me, if that had been under my control, I would not have let your memories be at an arm's length from you!"

"So all those flashes of memories we were having…" Davy realized. "That was them, trying to help us!"

"And that's also why Rue stopped me from signing your contract back at Rosebud Lane!" Micky gasped. "He was remembering for me!"

"They all were…" Mike said, recalling how Diamond Jim had reacted angrily towards Zero from the start. "Why didn't I listen to that chicken when he said not to accept this stupid plant—GAH!"

The plant tightened its hold on him, and the others responded by pulling back on the vines around Mike's chest, easing the pressure off of him just enough so that he could still manage to breathe.

"Now, now, Michael; one shouldn't insult the creature that holds your fate in its hands… or tendrils, as the case may be," Zero taunted. "It doesn't matter that you know the truth now; soon, you, Michael, will be off to the next world, and Malevolent will write an end to your animal friends—and your memories—in one fell swoop."

Mike cringed in between his gulps for air.

"Guys…" he gasped. "Guys, you need to put the medallions in the slab right now. And take mine, too."

"But if we leave you… the plant will get tighter!" Peter worried.

"Yeah, he's right!" Micky added. "If we even move…"

"I know…" Mike said. "But we made a vow that we'd see this until the end. And I want my memories back before…"

"No!" Davy cried, seizing Mike's hand again with his free hand while continuing to tug on the vines with the other. "That's not what we said, Mike; we vowed that _all four of us_ would see this through to the end! And it's not the end! Even if the slab breaks—even if there's no way to get our memories back after that—it's still not the end if all four of us are together! And we don't want it any other way."

"That's right!" Micky exclaimed. "We made it this far because we found each other again!"

"And besides that," Peter added, as he and Micky took Mike's other hand with their free hands. "When it comes down to it, you're more important than our memories."

Mike looked up at his friends, moved.

"Don't you want to remember how it's supposed to be?"

"Of course we do!" Micky said. "That's why we headed on this noble quest of ours in the first place!"

"But even if we don't remember, we still _know_ how it's supposed to be," Peter said. "It's supposed to be the four of us together, like Davy said."

"I'm glad you think so," Mr. Zero droned. "Because it seems as though you just lost your chance to get your memories back."

There was a final, loud crack, and the slab fell apart into four pieces. The Monkees cringed as the four pieces fell, skidding across the floor as they were pushed around by the animals, scrambling to get out of Malevolent's way. The beast was now going for the kill, and the other animals seemed to take on the preferred combat method of the young men whose memories they carried—a tactical retreat.

Zero was not concerned with them, however; he focused his attention on Mike, who was getting noticeably weaker.

"The plant seems to be getting a lot of nourishment from you, Michael," he said. "You must have quite a fighting spirit. It loves that."

Mike gritted his teeth.

"Don't you listen to him!" Peter ordered.

"That's right; you just keep staying with us, and we'll take care of the rest… somehow," Micky promised.

But Mike couldn't be consoled. Once again, he had failed his best friends, and it tore him up to confess that to himself.

"Guys, I'm… I'm sorry… We were so close to getting our memories back, and now, because of me…"

"Don't say that," Davy pleaded, blinking back tears, both out of empathy for Mike and because of the knowledge that they might very well be losing him. "We chose _you_ over our memories—because we know that with you, we can make more memories. And we can be happy, too. But we can't be happy without you, Mike. I… I think that's why we snapped out of the serum, even though we weren't supposed to. You were willing to make such a sacrifice for us because you love us. And we love you too much to let you go through with it—or to let this plant finish you just because of us having a chance to get our memories back."

Mike stared straight at Davy; something the boy said seemed to resonate in the air, and Micky and Peter must have felt it, too, because they both looked to Davy, as well.

Diamond Jim suddenly let out a call—not an alarm call, but a regular call. The other animals responded to the call, and all four Monkees gasped as they, simultaneously, received a flash of memory—they were in a somber-looking courtroom, with Mr. Zero standing there, and Mike staring him down while making a brave declaration:

"… _Because, Baby, in the final analysis, Love is power._ _That's_ _where the power's at!_ "

They looked at each other, not even having to ask whether they all saw and heard the same thing, for they knew they had.

"That's it," Peter realized. "That's how we found each other, even with the odds all against us—our hearts just led us to each other naturally."

"Zero could lock away our memories, but not our love for each other," Davy said. "…And that must be the power that the medallions mentioned. It's like Peter said; we got this far because we cared about each other—not because of dumb luck or coincidences."

"Then it's also how we're going to get out of this!" Micky declared. "Ya hear that, Mike? We're getting you out of this!"

And Mike, who had been ready accept his fate at the tendrils of the plant, now nodded as much as the plant would allow, his resolved strengthened.

"Love?" Zero scoffed. "You think that is what got you this far? Fine, see what your love can do for you! The slab is broken, Malevolent is slowly but surely wearing your animal friends down, and Michael's time is almost up! Go on, just try to use your Power of Love to get you out of this!"

"We will!" Davy yelled. "We just have to think of something!"

"…And I think I've got it," Mike said. "Mick, you were saying something about the cracks giving the slab character. The slab would still work if it was all in one piece, cracks or not, right?"

"But it's not in one piece," Micky said. "It's broken."

"Right—into four equal pieces. One for each of us," the Texan said, now shaking off the weariness he was feeling. He lowered his voice so as not to let Zero overhear. "What would happen if we brought the four pieces together, like a puzzle?"

They exchanged glances with each other.

"It might work…" Davy said. "At least, I hope it will."

"You keep holding onto those vines," Micky instructed. "I'll get the pieces."

Micky retrieved the four pieces of the slab, pushing them across the floor towards them one at a time—and everyone took note that it took both hands to push the pieces. Davy and Peter held onto the vines as they placed their medallions into their pieces of the stone. Micky followed suit, and then he and Davy pushed Mike's piece of the slab towards him to allow him to place his medallion onto it.

Mr. Zero was now laughing at them; he, clearly, was confident that this wasn't going to work. The quartet ignored him, staring in apprehension at the pieces in front of them. Nothing seemed to be happening—not even so much a sign that they had put the medallions in the right way.

The Texan cleared his throat.

"Okay, so there's one thing we need to do, and that's to put them together," he said.

"But we need two hands to push each piece," Peter said. "And if we let go of the vines to push the pieces, then that would mean—"

"That would mean that you have to move fast," Mike said. "I'll be okay. I promise; I'll hold on long enough to do this."

"But what if it doesn't work?" Davy asked. "How will we get the vines off of you then?"

Mike didn't reply.

"I'll answer that," Zero said. "You won't! You'll only bring the end to him that much sooner! Though, I suppose that in his current situation, you'll be putting him out of his misery at last."

"Don't you listen to him. We just have to believe," Mike said. "It's the only chance we've got left; we have to go for it." He sighed. "Okay. When I give the word, I want y'all to let go of the vines and use both of your hands to push the pieces together—like this." He demonstrated, placing his outstretched hands on his piece of slab. "I'm not able to move at all, so you're going to have to bring them to me—line them up with my piece. And then hope that this works. Got it?"

They nodded, nervously. They wanted to believe, but a part of them was too worried that Mr. Zero was right, and that the slab was useless—in which case, it really would be time to say goodbye to Mike, for good.

He turned his head as Rue let out a frightened trumpet; Malevolent had succeeded in cornering the other animals. There was no way out for them; they would have to somehow fight this tireless beast, despite however exhausted they were.

"Now, Guys!" Mike ordered. "Let's go! One, two, three!"

On "three," Davy and Peter let go of the vines—a task that was almost impossible for them to do. And, sure enough, as they placed their hands on their pieces of the slab, the vines tightened and further constricted around Mike, concealing his head and body from view as they formed a small cocoon of vines around him, leaving only his outstretched hands visible. Pure adrenaline helped power the other Monkees into putting the four pieces together, re-forming the slab.

Nothing happened.

Mr. Zero laughed louder as Micky and Peter both let out horrified gasps and as an agonized Davy felt a cry of despair welling up in his throat.

But Diamond Jim now perched beside Mike, spreading his wings and trilling. And Mr. Zero stopped laughing as Saph now stood next to Davy, rearing back on his hind legs and whinnying. Emerald stood by Peter and howled, and Rue lumbered to Micky's side and let out a mighty trumpet.

A white glow bathed the four animals, causing Malevolent, who had been ready to launch into the final coup de grace to finish them off, to back off. Then, the slab was glowing with the same white light.

Davy gasped, clutching at his head as images and sounds spun around and around in his mind—seeing himself as a young 14-year-old in a bus depot, meeting Mike for the first time… learning to live as roommates, though they had never intended for it to happen… forming a two-man act with him until Micky and Peter came along… and the four of them, together, playing their music… running into spies and monsters and all sorts of foes along the way, but always pulling through because they had each other…

Micky and Peter were clutching at their heads, too, clearly experiencing the same thing. And even Mike's hands—the only parts of him he could still move—went rigid for a moment before desperately trying to reach out to the cherished friends he loved so much—and now, apparently, remembered.

Davy was the first to seize one of Mike's hands as the light grew brighter and brighter. And as Micky and Peter seized Mike's other hand, Mr. Zero let out a roar of rage.

"NO!" the Prince of Darkness bellowed.

Davy saw Zero grab for Mike as the light grew too bright for him to see anymore, and he felt the sensation of someone trying to pull Mike away from them.

"I will not let you win!" Zero bellowed. "I _will_ take him—I will!"

"Not while we're here!" Davy yelled back, once again hardly able to hear the sound of his own voice. He tightened his grip on Mike's hand, determined that, this time, he would not let go.

The last sound Davy heard before he lost all awareness was a furious shriek from Zero:

" _This isn't over!_ "

The words sent a chill down the young Englishman's spine as he blacked out from the intensity of the light.

* * *

The ocean breeze, the calls of the seagulls, and the soothing crashing of the waves were the next things that Davy was aware of. How long had he been out? And what had happened to…?

His thoughts trailed off as his eyes snapped open. They were back on the beach, right near the shoreline, just a few yards from the shabby white beachhouse. The sun was low in the sky, slowly sinking into the horizon beyond the water, but that was the last thing on the young Englishman's mind now.

"Mike?!" he called. "Micky?! Peter?!"

He heard a groan from a few yards from him.

"Oh, man…" Micky's voice said. "Davy?! Pete?! Mike?!"

"Over here!" Peter's voice answered, a few yards from Davy in the other direction. "Are you guys okay?!"

Davy sat up, and was now aware of two things—first that, once again, Mike's voice was conspicuously absent, and secondly that Davy felt his hand still grasping another.

Davy turned his head and looked down—and now released the agonized cry he had been holding back. The cocoon of thorn-covered vines was right next to him; Mike's hands were still sticking out from them with Davy still holding onto one of them—but the Texan's skin was alarmingly pale.

Micky and Peter were at his side in an instant, also frantically calling out to Mike as they tugged on the vines. But it was to no avail—the vines were still writhing; somehow, the cuttings of the plant were as alive as the main plant.

"I've got it!" Micky suddenly exclaimed. "The water—get him to the water!"

Davy and Peter didn't stop to ask questions; they did as Micky suggested, carrying the vine-covered Mike to the water's edge. Micky now splashed the ocean water all over the vines. And, sure enough, the vines pulled away, releasing Mike as they fell to the sandy ground. The others frantically called to Mike, but he continued to lie motionless on the sand, unresponsive to their cries.

"This isn't happening…" Peter whispered, horrified. "This is _not_ happening…"

"Come on, Mike! Wake up!" Micky pleaded.

Davy was momentarily stunned upon seeing Mike's condition. At last, his voice returned to him, and he seized Mike's shoulders.

"This wasn't supposed to be the end!" Davy cried. "You were supposed to be okay! We were supposed to save you!" His voice broke. "…We were supposed to stay together…" He continued to stare at the pale face as Peter rubbed Mike's wrist and as Micky tried to splash the ocean water on the Texan's face to try to revive him.

And then something snapped; Davy's resolve was too great. They could not—would not—lose Mike now!

His grip on Mike's shoulders tightened for a moment before gently tilting Mike's head back and forcing a breath of air into his lungs.

And, at last, the Texan's chest suddenly heaved, and he started gasping to breathe on his own again.

"Mike!" Peter exclaimed.

"Give him some air!" Micky instructed. "Back off just a bit!"

The three gently did back away, allowing him to catch his breath. But they held onto Mike's hands, letting him know that they were all still right there.

At last, the Texan looked up at them, and the others moved forward once again. Mike looked from one face to the next, and he managed a wan smile.

"I told you I'd hold on," he said. "I just… needed a bit of help. Thanks."

Davy smiled through the tears he had let slip from his eyes and he bent down to draw the Texan into a hug. Micky and Peter joined in, and Mike weakly hugged them all back, trying not to let on how overwhelmed he was.

"How in the world did you get that plant to let me go?" he asked, after some time.

"It was Micky's idea," Davy said.

"It was nothing, really," Micky said. "I remembered that most plants hate salt water—the salt pulls their water supply right out of their cells, and they just shrivel up." He gave a smile as the others gave him a look. "Read it in one of my science books back up in the Pad," he added, jerking his head towards the beachhouse.

"The Pad…" Peter repeated.

All four of them stared at the beachhouse again. The back door was still open from when Dr. Mendoza had chased them out earlier that day.

"…Home," Davy whispered, hardly daring to believe it. "We're _home_. I… I remember now. This is home, and the four of us are…"

"…The Monkees," Mike finished for him.

They exchanged glances, joy lighting up each of their faces.

"We've got our memories back!" Micky exclaimed.

They hadn't been sure after all of those simultaneous flashes of memories when everything had started glowing, and their concern for Mike had temporarily rendered the return of their memories unimportant. But now it was clear that they were back—they had done what they had set out to do.

A low trumpeting got their attention now. Rue was lumbering up the beach with Saph, Emerald, and Diamond Jim in tow. The four animals looked to the four young men.

"Well," Micky said, petting Rue on the truck as they got close enough. "I guess it was lucky for me that an elephant never forgets."

"A Texas prairie chicken isn't too rusty with the old birdbrain, either," Mike said, as Diamond Jim let out a warble in response.

Davy gently stroked Saph's forehead as the horse lowered his head to greet him.

"I still don't quite know where they came from," Davy said. "I'd hate to think that Zero was the one who created them…"

"He wasn't," Peter said, with utmost certainty as he gave Emerald a scratch behind the ears. "We were. Well, sort of. They were always a part of us, I think. That's probably why they're here now—to rejoin us."

Peter seemed to be right—as the minutes passed, the animals grew more and more transparent until, finally, with one last call, each phased into their respective Monkee.

"…And we'll probably see them again the next time we need them," Peter finished

"Next time? But… it's over, isn't it?" Micky asked, concerned. "We won, didn't we?"

"We won the battle," Mike said. "But seeing as though that's twice we've shown Zero up, he's going to be plenty mad. He'll be back when he cooks up some other dastardly scheme. But we'll be okay, though."

"…Because we've got each other?" Davy asked, softly.

"Exactly," the Texan said. He now looked back up at the beachhouse as the others helped him sit up. "Guys... Let's go home."

The words touched their hearts like never before.

**Epilogue**

Mike was still very weak; it was clear that it was going to take a few days to fully recover from his second encounter with the plant, but the others gladly helped him across the sand and up the back stairs.

When they entered the alcove of the Pad, however, they stopped in surprise to see Mr. Babbitt frantically pacing their living room.

"Where have you four been?!" he exclaimed. "I just realized that you four were missing for I don't even know how long—and then you turned up here this morning like you didn't even know me!"

"…And you were worried about us enough to stay here and wait for us?" Peter inquired.

Babbitt froze for a moment, realizing that he had just made that too obvious.

"Of course not!" he bluffed. "You four owe me all that back rent—I'm not about to let you skip out on me!" He hesitated, seeing Mike's condition. "…You've got two more weeks to come up with it."

He decided to leave before he betrayed just how worried he had been.

"Never mind him," Davy said, as they gently laid Mike down on the backless couch. "You just rest here; we'll get you something to eat. You need to regain your strength."

"If this place is just like we left it, then there wasn't any food," Mike reminded him.

Micky's shoulders slumped as he opened the empty refrigerator.

"And our emergency money is depleted—just like we left it," he sighed, glancing at the empty jar where they usually threw in whatever spare cash they'd have on hand. "We're back to empty wallets and empty stomachs once again."

"I'd rather have them over an empty heart anyday," Peter declared. "And right now, mine's about as full as it can get."

"I hear ya, Shotgun," Mike said, smiling. Yes, starvation was nothing new to them—and it didn't matter so much as long as they had each other.

A knock on the door stopped the conversation from going any further. Davy now got up from beside Mike and looked through the peephole—or tried to, at any rate; he still wasn't quite tall enough. He shrugged it off and opened the door—and stared in surprise to see none other than the majordomo of Hagglethorn Hall standing there.

"Creech!" he exclaimed.

"I trust you and your friends are well, Master David?"

Davy just grinned.

"I thought I told you—just 'David' will do. And yes, we are—or we will be soon enough."

"Habits die hard—even if they aren't old," Creech explained. "And even if you aren't the Earl—and it looks as though you won't be for quite a while yet."

"…You mean, Uncle Sedgwick—?"

"He awakened from his comatose state just less than an hour ago," Creech said. "What's more, the blotted-out records cleared up around the same time; they listed your address as here, so I came here with the intent to inform you that you no longer need to worry about Master Sedgwick; he is doing quite well."

Davy let out a sigh of relief, and Peter walked over to him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"See? I told you he'd be okay," the blond said.

"However, I'm afraid that I must also be the bearer of some bad news," Creech added, before Davy could reply. "It seems that the other young man—Baby Face Morales, I believe he's called—also came out of his comatose state and promptly escaped from the sentry in his room. He is still at large."

"You can let him go," Davy said, shaking his head. "I don't think I'll be pressing charges against him—not when he speeded up getting the four of us back together again. In a way, I kind of owe him something."

"Not to mention how he told me where to find the slab," Mike added. "Yeah, I'm with Davy on this. Let him go."

"You've gotta admit, he _is_ a good-looking guy; he's got that going for him…" Micky cracked, prompting Peter to chuckle.

"As you wish," Creech said. "And I still stand by what I said—Hagglethorn Hall will always be open to you and your friends." He turned to go, but then paused as a thought struck him. "…The records told me something else, in addition to your address. They said that you are in a band."

"That's right," Davy said.

"Then I must request that you and your friends perform at the Hagglethorn Charity Festival in a few weeks. It seems only proper that the Earl's nephew and heir make his return to the Hall as he truly was meant to—as the person he truly is, with his companions by his side."

Davy glanced to the others, silently asking if they liked the idea. Peter certainly did, if the grin on his face was any indication. Micky had perked up, as well, and Mike gave a nod of assent.

"That would be great, Creech," Davy said, looking back to him. "We'll take you up on it."

"I was hoping you would," Creech said, taking an envelope out of his pocket and handing it to Davy. "You will find here half of the money as an advanced payment for your agreeing to play for the festival."

"Oh, Creech, we couldn't possibly—"

"We'll take it!" Micky said, dashing across the room and taking the envelope from Creech before Davy could finish turning down the money. "Thanks!"

Creech gave a bow.

"It is our honor to be able to host you," he said. "I will keep in touch about the venue and the time."

He took his leave of them and left, leaving Micky to gleefully count the money as Davy shook his head in amused disbelief.

"And this is only half of what we're getting for this gig?" he asked, a grin plastered on his face. "Man, we can give Babbitt the back rent and keep ourselves fed on this for the next couple of weeks! We're eating well tonight—Pete, call for a pizza!"

"You got it!" the blond exclaimed, heading for the phone.

"…That's eating well?" Mike deadpanned.

"Well, it's the best we can get without going out the door," Micky pointed out. "I figured that after what we just went through, well…"

"I know what you mean," Davy said, crossing back across the room to sit next to Mike again. "Mike needs his rest, and even if he was fine, I wouldn't want to step out so soon now that we're finally home."

"And now we don't have to," Peter said, hanging up the phone. "It'll be here in 30 minutes—and if it isn't, it's free."

He and Micky now joined Davy beside their leader. Mike, in turn, looked to each of them once again, his mind recalling his precious memories and cherishing each one.

"You know… I can't believe there was actually a time when I would've preferred living here on my own," he said

"And, yet, you took me in," Davy said, quietly. "When you didn't even want to."

"Yeah, well… common sense told me that I was just asking for trouble if I did take you in," Mike admitted. "For what it's worth, though, I'm glad I didn't listen to my better judgment. Maybe we _have_ gotten into trouble along the way. But I don't regret it." He looked to Micky and Peter. "And I don't regret convincing you two to move in, either." He hesitated, looking at the wounds the plant had given him; he began to fully grasp just how close to the end he had come, first from nearly signing the contract, and then the whole fiasco with the plant. But then he let out a determined sigh.

"I don't regret a thing," he promised, closing his eyes in order to rest.

"Neither do we," he heard Davy say.

They sat in silence again for some time, Mike drawing the strength he needed from the others' presence. After a while, though, the silence was broken by Peter softly singing "Papa Gene's Blues." Micky and Davy soon joined in, and even Mike, though he took a moment to listen to his three compatriots singing his own song to him, managed to find the strength to softly sing along, too.

It was all so fitting. They no longer had any heartaches or loneliness. And though they had nothing more than what they had before Zero had tried so hard to tear them apart, they had what they needed:

They had their love—the love that was shared by four musicians who couldn't have been more different from each other, and yet had managed to come together into a crazy, mixed-up family—not once, but twice, and with the odds against them all the while.

And as they sang, they knew that it would be that love and care they had for each other that would carry them onward through whatever it was that lay in that uncertain road into the future.

**The End**


End file.
